


Break The Ice

by goodemornting



Category: RuPaul's Drag Race (US) RPF
Genre: Alcohol, Denali plays ice hockey, Eventual Smut, F/F, Ice-skating AU, Kissing, Lesbian AU, Mentions of skating injuries, Mik is enby in this!, New Years Eve, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Rivals to Lovers, Rosé is a figure skater, Slow Burn, not toooo slow tho, that tag is a stretch but they’ll at least make out ok
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-27
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-13 11:13:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 23,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29027760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goodemornting/pseuds/goodemornting
Summary: Olympic figure skater Rosé is working to make a comeback in the figure skating world; aiming for gold at the 2022 Beijing Winter Games.It would help if she wasn't so distracted by her hometown rival and young ice prodigy Denali Foxx of the National Ice Hockey Team constantly one-upping her for the best opportunities. Or the fact that she's ridiculously attractive.
Relationships: Denali/Rosé (Drag Race), Olivia Lux/Symone
Comments: 155
Kudos: 188





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone!! This is my second multichap on here and it’s cross posted from AQ, if you’d prefer to read there. I’m not sure about this ship yet but I tried my best. I really hope you enjoy it!

“Watcha doin, Rosie?” Olivia’s sleepy six-in-the-morning voice rings out next to her from where she sits on a ringside bench, rubbing her legs to warm them up. 

Rosé has a sports magazine spread out in front of her, a full bodied Denali Foxx Nike ad plastered over the center pages. Rosé has her signature 4-color pen in her hand switched to the red setting and she’s furiously coloring in the devil horns she’d adorned on top of Denali’s navy hair. “Fixing this magazine.” she hisses, figuring that was obvious.

“Oh, is that Nali’s new ad?” Olivia asks, leaning into Rosé’s space. “Damn, you can basically see her tits through that shirt. Maybe I should get one of those.” Rosé rolls her eyes and scribbles little x’s over the offending body parts.

“It was supposed to be _my_ ad, remember?” the older woman points out bitterly.

Olivia pauses for a moment. “Ah, right! The one where you had the part but then they called saying they found someone young—,” Rosé looks up from her masterpiece with a sharp glare. “N-nevermind,” she mumbles sheepishly.

Rosé sighs, flipping the magazine closed and putting it into her bag along with her favourite pen. “Yes, Liv, that one,” she mutters. “I was going to use that money for a new pair of skates for the Nebelhorn Trophy.”

“Get them anyway,” Olivia shrugs. “You deserve to treat yourself.”

Usually, she would. But she still has to pay commission for her new program costumes which doesn’t leave her with a lot of extra spending cash, especially not with one of her sponsors dropping her after she flopped during the International Championships. Besides, her current skates are fine, just a little aged; it’s a pain in the ass to break in new skates anyway. “I’ll think about it,” she nods, before standing from the bench and stretching her arms behind her head. “We should get our stretching done before Utica gets here.”

Olivia groans, but stands up to join her anyway. “Speaking of, is she running late? She usually texts us,” Olivia hums, pulling out her phone and scrolling through her messages.

With impeccable timing, Utica’s voice enters the rink entrance room with a too-cheery “Morning guys!” and a flurry of her arms. Rosé turns around to greet her coach, but she wasn’t alone today. Entering behind her is another girl; a little taller than Utica with pristine skin and blond hair, a bit of a serious expression, and a pretty face.

Rosé greets her with a lazy wave and waits for Olivia to say something, but when she turns to her fellow skater she appears to be frozen, mouth slightly agape. “Rosé, who is that?” The younger woman mutters, eyes wide.

Before Rosé can respond, Utica stops in front of them and speaks again. “Before we get started I have someone to introduce to you guys! This is Symone Avalon; I’ve hired her as an assistant to help me manage our schedules and stuff. She’s a pickle new to figure skating but helped manage other sporting teams, so help her out if she has any questions, okay?”

Olivia is still frozen next to her and likely going to be useless for a bit longer, so Rosé takes matters into her own hands and gives Symone a smile. “Rosé McCorkell. Welcome to the team.”

Symone’s face transforms into a lovely boxy grin. She was intimidating walking in, but now seems perfectly welcoming. “Pleasure to be here,” she drawls. “Symone Avalon, like Utica said. And you?”

Said woman inhales. “Olivia Lux” she manages, “Nice to meet you.” It’s a pleasant surprise to see Liv flustered; she’s usually on the other side of it.

They finally start their morning stretches with the ice rink breeze cooling them off from next to them. Symone sits on one of the benches to watch while Utica walks around them, occasionally giving out critiques such as _“Rosie, your back looks a bit kooky, should be straighter.”_ and _“Liv, I know you can reach further than that!”_

In between, Symone asks questions. “Utica told me a little bit about you guys’ goals, I don’t know much about skating. Rosé you’ve been to the Olympics before, right? First bronze medalist, _sheesh_.” 

It’s a source of pride to Rosé; even if she hadn’t won gold or silver those three odd years ago, she was still one of the only American’s to place in Olympic Figure Skating in years. At the time, it was impressive. What’s not so impressive is the steady decline of her skating since.

“Yeah,” Rosé chuckles, ignoring her negativity in favor of stretching up towards her toes. “I’m trying to qualify again for the upcoming Olympics in Beijing next year, but I didn’t secure a spot from the International Championships back in March, so my last hope is to be one of the five women’s singles qualifiers at the Nebelhorn Trophy this upcoming September.”

“Ah, that’s coming up soon,” Symone hums, and Rosé gives her a grave nod. “You the same, Livia? Aiming for the Olympics this year?”

“Nah,” Olivia says, stretching over backwards with a little more flare and flexibility than she usually goes for so early in the morning; Rosé can only guess why. “I’m going for the New Jersey Championships which isn’t until January, but I’m hoping that will get me a ticket to next year’s World Championships.”

Symone grins, “I’m pumped to root for you guys!”

Rosé and Olivia finally pull on their skates and make their way onto the ice, spinning mindlessly to get into the zone.

“Rosie,” Utica chimes as they make their rounds, waring down the freshly zamboni’d surface. “Have you chosen music for your shiny new free skate? I’m running out of time to choreograph it and also give you enough time to practice.” She says it kindly, but there’s an edge to her voice that says if you don’t pick on soon I’m picking one for you or making you perform your other one.

Rosé doesn’t like either of those options. “I’ve narrowed down my options,” she lies. She has no fucking clue what he wants to use. “Give me three more days and I’ll have a track for you, I swear.” She works better on deadlines anyway.

Utica looks like she wants to protest, but instead gives her a skeptical nod. “Three days, mhm? Work on your triple salchow today, I want it perfect for your short program. And if I catch you trying for a quad without my say so I’m throwing you off the ice!”

Rosé thinks about the way she landed flat on her ass yesterday trying for a quad salchow and decides that it’s probably for the best to wait until her coach’s say-so today. She nods at Utica, who accepts it with a beam and turns to Olivia for her own instruction. The ice is temperamental with Rosé as of late. Some days (yesterday) it feels like her blades are moving on concrete and she would do anything to feel like her younger self, full of talent and love for the sport. Today feels okay; maybe the addition of Symone who awes and oo’s at her and Olivia even when their jumps are imperfect.

About an hour after they begin, Rosé takes a moment by the rink wall to catch her breath and grab a bottle of water. Olivia is still trying to perfect her flying entry spin and she’s clearly a natural; her body moves with a fluidity that Rosé’s not sure she ever had. 

“Y’all are amazing,” Symone awes from next to her, watching as Olivia pulls a rotation too many and ends up sprawled on the ice floor, whining at Utica.

“Something like that,” Rosé mutters, though she doesn’t mean it maliciously. She and Olivia are good - even if Rosé’s not at her peak, she knows she’s better than average. And Olivia is young and still so full of life and potential.

“I mean it though,” Symone laughs. “I have a few friends in hockey. They’re super good, but it’s a lot different watching them skate versus you girls.”

Rosé can’t help but agree. She denies it whenever she gets the chance, but Rosé’s youtube history has hours worth of America’s national hockey team footage. She’s mostly looking to see if Denali will make a mistake that she can tease her about later. 

Unfortunately, Denali Foxx doesn’t really make mistakes.

Regardless, Rosé doesn’t really get hockey culture but she does respect the sport. Denali and her pompous sponsor-stealing existence aside, she has a fondness for a few of the players and she’s impressed by their teamwork and quick-thinking. Figure skating is incredible in it’s own right, but it’s opposite in that it’s a lot of individual work and pre-planning.

They end practice a few hours later; Rosé’s body has a pleasant soreness and by the end of the day Utica had little negative words to say about her salchows and said maybe they could _try_ quads tomorrow. She’ll count today as a success.

While Olivia and Rosé are doing their wind-down stretches, Symone drawls: “I have dinner plans with a few friends today; how about you three join me? It’s my treat as thanks for having me on the team.”

“Oh, no, that’s okay—“ Utica starts.

“We’re in,” Rosé and Olivia say simultaneously. They’re not in the habit of turning down free food, and Utica giggles when she knows she’s lost.

They split up to go home so that they can shower and change; according to Symone the restaurant they have reservations for is nice but not too formal so they can wear whatever they please as long as it isn’t jeans. They exchange numbers with their new manager and she texts them the address and instructions to meet them for 19:00. Fortunately, Rosé’s tiny one bedroom is only a twenty minute walk from the restaurant where they plan to meet, so she doesn’t feel too rushed to get ready. She showers and slips on a charcoal black skirt complete with a silver belt and a pastel pink blouse. 

The restaurant does look nice; some italian-american fusion place. She meets Olivia outside and they place hurried bets on how much single glasses of wine are going to cost before Symone and Utica show up to walk in with them.

They only take a few steps into the restaurant before Rosé regrets saying yes to Symone’s offer.

She sees Lala Ri first, which isn’t inherently a bad thing. Lala is a nice woman; she gives Rosé healthy diet-friendly snacks when they see each other and tells her that she looked good in her last competition even when Rosé knows she didn’t.

No, Lala is fine. Seeing her is fine. The problem with Lala is that she’s the coach for the national ice hockey team. Where Lala is, the ice hockey team is.

Where the ice hockey team is, Denali Foxx is.

Denali Foxx, the team’s center forward and MVP, just so happens to be Rosé’s worst nightmare. Ice skating child prodigy from their hometown, stealer of Rosé’s best opportunities and sponsorships, and complete asshat to boot. They’re not exactly rivals; Denali _used_ to figure skate until she found her natural talent for hockey, saying that ‘beating some sluts on court with my girls.’ was more fun than figure skating ever had been.

So, they’re not exactly _rivals_ , but they compete in other ways; who’s poster is hung up at their home airport, who can win gold first in the name of their small local rink that they used to practice in, or who looks better gliding in the latest Jackson Ultima blades. For a while, namely the XXIII Olympic Winter Games, it was Rosé McCorkell.

As of late, it’s Denali Foxx. And Rosé doesn’t have any plans to let it stay that way.

Anyway, the point is that Lala is here which means that Denali is here and Rosé has every intention of leaving as soon as possible to avoid the younger’s taunts and attitude.

Lala looks up from her spot at their overly-large dining table and waves over at them. “Symone!” she says, pushing away from her chair and going up to meet them. “You didn’t say you were working with Utica’s team.”

Symone looks surprised, looking back and forth between Lala and Utica. “I didn’t know y’all knew each other?”

Utica giggled. “We cross paths a lot since Rosie’s been to the Olympics and Lala’s team went in 2018 too. We’ve stayed in touch pretty good.

They talk for a little longer, and Rosé’s eyes wander to suss out who on the team has made it to the dinner, but at a quick glance it looks like most of the team is there and she feels a little bad for the waiting staff who have to serve the lot of them.

Despite Mik’s height compared to the rest of the team, Rosé see’s their mop of freshly bleached hair first and breathes a sigh of relief. She’s the closest with Mik of the people on the team; they go out for drinks every so often and whine about early morning practices and overbearing coaches (always followed by getting a little too tipsy and yelling about how they’re the best coaches in the world.) Mik is one of the few people she considers an actual friend.

The rest of the main lineup is there, as well; the two defense members, Tayce and Ahora, along with the right and left forwards Priyanka and Kiara. All decent enough girls from Rosé’s experience.

Of course, Rosé was also right about Denali being there; sat between Mik and Priyanka as the youngest star player herself. When she notices that Lala has made her escape, she looks up in their direction and gives a smirk at the sight of Rosé.

The worst part is that, per usual, she looks ridiculously pretty. Every time Rosé sees her there’s a little less shyness in her eyes - not that there was much to begin with - her ridiculous cheekbones ever present and her hair longer and freshly dyed a more subtle blue, giving way to a natural curl around her ears. She looked good in the magazine - Rosé is confidential enough to admit it - but it doesn’t compare to the real thing.

“Been a while, Rosie,” she laughs when the figure skaters make their way over to the table, a waitress pulling over an extra few chairs. Rosé sits on Mik’s other side at the end of the table with Symone across from her, Olivia taking a seat next to their new manager and Utica saddling up against Lala up the other end.

Rosé opens her mouth to give a scathing response, but Priyanka beats her to it with a good natured laugh and a light wack on her teammates head. “Respect your elders, Nals,”

Denali grins, “How could I forget, It’s because of _that_ I got in with Nike.”

“Mention Nike again and I’m shoving this fork up your—“

“Anyway,” Olivia intervenes, turning to Symone. “You’ll eventually get used to, uh, whatever that is,” - she waves in the direction of Rosé and Denali - “in time. They’re mostly harmless.”

Symone’s eyes are a little wide and she looks like she wants to ask what the whole thing is about, but is smart enough to keep her mouth shut.

“Rosé, how’s training going? Last time we talked you still didn’t have music for your free skate,” Mik intervenes, breaking the glaring contest between the other two women.

Rosé groans, “No, and Utica’s at her wit’s end with me.”

“Hm, I might have a few friends from university that have pieces you can use. Text me about it later, gorgeous.” Mik smiles, and this is why they’re one of Rosé’s best friends.

The dinner goes well for a while; Rosé mainly keeps to Symone, Olivia, and Mik though she occasionally makes light conversation with Priyanka and Kiara.  
She mostly ignores Denali; they occasionally quip about how Rosé doesn’t “get” hockey or Denali never “appreciated” figure skating but it’s all usual for the two of them. Rosé knows more about hockey than she’ll admit, and she’s certain that Denali misses figure skating sometimes at least, but it’s the principal of the matter, anyway.

This changes when Rosé overhears Denali telling Olivia about a new sponsorship she just signed into. “Oh, what brand?” Olivia’s inquiring.

“Fila,” Denali says nonchalantly, and Rosé sees red.

“ _What_?” she snaps, turning her attention from Symone. “You’re joking. Tell me you’re joking,” she hisses, and she doesn’t know if her voice is more angry or desperate.

Denali, for her part, looks surprised and lacking of her usual braggart expression. “No?” she says, eyes wide and mouth full of food that she had been inhaling.

Rosé takes a deep and puts down her fork, abandoning her Gnocchi. “Excuse me a moment,” she says, putting on her most fake smile and leaving the table in an abrupt silence to get some fresh air.

A minute later, to Rosé’s surprise, Symone steps out to join her. “I’m not usually that dramatic for no reason,” she says to her, huffing quietly. Well, she’s _sometimes_ that dramatic. But usually for a good reason. She doesn't care to tell an entire table of young hockey players that she’s apparently become ‘old’ so she figured better to leave then and there.

“Wanna talk about it?” Symone asks, tilting her head. “You seemed pretty upset when Foxx mentioned Fila?”

Rosé nods, leaning up against the building’s wall. “Fila was one of my sponsors for a bit. Wasn’t flashy about it; figure skating isn’t really their wheelhouse. But once and a while I modeled in some minor ads and they gave me decent funding to skate.’ She takes a big sigh and continues before she has a chance to regret spilling her insecurities to an almost-stranger. “After I lost pretty bad at the most recent Championships, a few of my biggest sponsorships dropped me; Fila was one of them. And I get it, they want someone who _wins_ , someone _younger._

She waits for Symone to stop her, or to go back inside, or something. But instead she looks to be patiently listening, so Rosé doesn’t stop there. “Figure skating isn’t really well paid. You only get money if you win but you can’t exactly work full-time on our schedule; between paying for rink time, Utica, equipment, we live off sponsors. If I don’t make it into the Olympics, hell if I don’t place even in the Olympics, it’s probably time to fucking retire.”

“But no pressure,” Symone laughs, a melancholy sound and her eyes read of sympathy. “I’m sorry, though. That must be tough,” she says.

Rosé shrugs. “We all retire at some point; but I’m not ready yet. I haven’t made it to where I know I can be.”

Symone grasps her shoulder and gives her an award-winning grin. “Starting today I’m here with you every step of the way; I saw you skate in person today and I’ve seen videos, I know you’re amazing. You got my support, girl.”

It means more to Rosé than she’ll admit to. “Thanks, Symone.”

They go back in and thankfully, the rest of the table pretends nothing happened. Mik apparently texted a few friend’s her email and they’re sending Rosé samples of music tomorrow, and Olivia is arguing with Priyanka about the merits of skating on freshwater ponds. Denali is, very surprisingly, quiet for most of the dinner.

Eventually it’s time for the group to part; the coaches and Symone foot the bill to everyone’s satisfaction and say their goodbyes outside while they take their own methods of transportation home. Rosé is about to start her walk when she feels a hand grasp her arm. When she turns around, she’s faced with Denali.

Rosé crosses her arms and raises her eyebrows, waiting for the younger woman to explain. Brag about taking her spot, probably. What she doesn’t expect is for her to say: “I’m sorry for bringing up… y’know. I think you’re loud and annoying and ridiculous, but you’re a good skater and they don’t know what they’re missing out on.”

Rosé is tempted to tell Denali that she’s arrogant and impulsive and rude but she decides to be the bigger person. “Thanks, _I think_ , but they had me for a while. I think they know they’re not going to be missing much.”

Denali snorts. “You’re like Benjamin Button, you only get better with age.”

“That’s not… you know what? Sure, thanks I guess,” Rosé shrugs, unwilling to tell Denali that that isn’t really the plot of Benjamin Button. She appreciates the gesture at least. “I’ll just have to win the Olympics and get them back from you.”

“First you have to _qualify_ for the Olympics,” Denali points out with a grin.

“Oh, you know I will. Just watch me, Denali Foxx.”

“Always do, Rosie,” Denali smiles and then turns to walk away, leaving Rosé just the _slightest_ bit stunned.

———

The next day is fortunate, a rare day off; Rosé sleeps until noon, cooks herself a gourmet breakfast of fresh fruits and younger and drinks three cups of coffee simply because she can even though Utica would probably cry if she told her.

Most of Rosé’s days off are spent in the comfort of her own presence; she takes them as days to not leave the house and catch up on shitty reality television and try not to think about the impending doom of her career. Unfortunately, she has a heavy list of emails containing music tracks that will definitely have her thinking about just that.

Figure skaters generally enter competitions with a theme in mind for the judges to use towards their performance and choreography scores. Her programs for the championships were Chaos and Order; it was a strong concept, but unfortunately Rosé’s performance was a little too much chaos and not nearly enough order. Because this competition starts in a new season, Rosé is able to think of not only a new program - one that might actually win her a qualifying spot - as well as a new theme. She’s chosen “Beginnings” in hopes to tell the world that the old Rosé’s time has passed and the new one is just about to show what she can really do.

In skating programs, there are two parts: the short program, or technical, and the free skate, or long program. The two programs have different move requirements. The short skate is, by name, shorter in length which means that to get a higher score all of the elements of the performance need to be in top condition. The free skate has a heavier focus on performance and story, and it also gives skaters more opportunity to show off bigger and fancier moves to rack up points. The short program is more difficult, but the opportunity for points in the long skate is much higher.

Her short music didn’t take long to find; it was a piece that she’d been wanting to do for a while but never really found fit. The song is a haunting instrumental to signify her fear of new beginnings.

Because her short program is focused on her fear, she wants her long program, the free skate, to show her embracing her new self. She’s scoured the internet for music and talked to a few composers, but so far none of them have really hit her with any kind of inspiration. The free skate is where most of the competition points come from, so it has to be perfect.

Fortunately, she has Mik.

While Mik was playing in minor hockey leagues, they attended University for music business in case their dreams didn’t pan out. Their contact list of composers and producers is extensive; Rosé’s email inbox is swarmed with propositions and mp3. files. She’s got a long day ahead of her.

Most of the tracks are incomplete, though some seem to be in more finalized renditions. They’re primarily instrumentals - Rosé’s skating preference - but a few have a decent smattering of vocals.

They’re not bad. Nothing has really hit her yet, but a few of the unfinished pieces could probably be worked with if she doesn’t have any more luck. It’s around 1pm when Rosé starts to near the end of the emails. She hits play on a track titled “phenomenon_wip.mp3”

It only takes a few seconds before she decides that this it is; this is the song she’s been looking for, the one she wants to skate to.

It’s an instrumental; about a minute long so far but could easily go on to the 3-minute mark she’s looking for. The tone changes work well with skating; she could time her steps and jumps to the way the music flows. The mood is especially to her liking; it has a powerful energy, the perfect match to her mature style of skating. And not only that, but the atmosphere… it’s flashy. It reminds Rosé of something, maybe someone. It’s comforting. She’s obsessed.

She doesn’t bother listening to the rest of the emails, and she shoves them all into a folder in case one of them would work for later programs (provided, you know, if she ever has any.) She shoots a response to the musician expressing her interest and inquiring about finishing the piece along with their rate and other charges, before sending a massive clump of heart emojis to Mik’s phone number. 

**Rosé**  
_You’re the best._

 **Mik**  
_found a song?_  
_you can refer to me as “genius” from now on._

 **Rosé**  
_I did, thank you my genius Mikmik <3 _

She feels on a high for the rest of the afternoon. Television commercial breaks are spent listing more ideas for track section she already has, even though Utica is usually the one to choreograph her pieces anyway.

This time she wants it to be different, though. Rosé is starting to feel like this could be her performance; instead of just going with the movements she can feel this one, and tell a story through her craft. She’s excited… for the first time in maybe a long time she actually _wants_ to skate.

She contemplates going to the rink for a minute; Saturdays are usually open skate days which is fine as long as she doesn’t try anything too crazy. However, she dismisses the idea pretty quickly with Utica’s kind voice echoing in her ear, saying that rest days are just as important to improvement as practice is. The speech is usually reserved for Olivia, who’s prone to over-practice, but Rosés heard it pointed at her enough times to fear her coach’s sadness.

The excitement, unfortunately, doesn’t last.

Rosé wakes up early on Monday morning as she does all days of the week, so that’s fine. However, her toaster decides to choose said morning to break which means having to scramble through her morning routine in order to leave early and stop for breakfast. The cafe she usually goes to on such mornings is out of avocados, so the only thing she can get that won't upset her stomach during practice is bland oatmeal with some underwhelming dried strawberries.

Not that it matters, because the minute he returns to her car she trips and pours the hot breakfast all over her front seat.

Whatever, she can walk this off. She changes out of her oatmeal pants the second she gets in the rink and it’s like the whole ordeal never happened, bar the rising hunger in her stomach as the morning stretches on.

Utica, fortunately, likes the track. She wishes it were finished, but the musician had emailed her back on Sunday with enthusiasm and letting her know that it can be finished by the end of the week.

Rosé can breeze by a rough morning; she’s ready to perfect her short program today. It’ll be fine.

Except it’s not fine. She turns her first quad of the day into a triple, touches down on her second, and on her third… she completely flubs that one with a wince from Utica on the sidelines and a sigh from Symone. 

“Take a break from the jumps for a bit, Rosie,” Utica instructs, throwing her a sympathetic smile. “You’re going to end up turning your bones to goo if you keep falling.”

“No, just let me do it until I—“

“You’re not gonna land any with an upset rhythm. Work on your step sequence for now; you know better than anyone than skating isn’t all about jumps. Perfect the sequence and we’ll go back to your quads.”

A perfect step sequence and shoddy jumps isn’t going to land Rosé a spot in the Olympics, but instead of arguing she obeys her coach.

She tries not to feel bitter when Utica turns her attention to Olivia neatly landing a triple salchow, purposeful and beautiful.

———

“I’m sorry Rosie, but you are _not_ , on God’s green earth, putting a quadruple lutz in the second half of your program.” Utica is saying, chin up. She’s clearly made her decision, but Rosé isn’t backing down.

Phenomenon was completed a few days ago; both Rosé and Utica agreed that the track was perfect and would suit her theme and program well. Utica has been hard at work choreographing it, and despite her rocky start Rosé has been improving the last few weeks of training. She’s gotten to about a 70% success rate in her practice quads and her triples have been more refined and clean than ever. 

She’s doing well.

And yet. Utica still doesn’t trust her input.

“The base score of this program will barely land me a spot on the podium. I don’t want to be passable, _I want to win—_ “

“You can’t win if you end up trying to do two quads, one being a lutz, if you break a leg,” Utica fires back, calm demeanour quickly growing sharp and nervous.

Rosé waves her hands, face hard as stone. “You only have me doing six jumps, two quads in the first half! The audience will be asleep by the second half, never mind the judges—“

Rosé, I know I’m not as _harsh_ as the others but I am technically the coach here, and you’re absolutely a very capable skater, but I also know your limits—“

“Uh, hey, y’all,” Symone interrupts, she and Olivia having decided they’re done listening to the two squabble at 8 in the morning. That’s all and well good for them, but Rosé’s career is kind of on the line so she thinks she has every right to be angry. “You’re not getting anywhere fighting like this. Why don’t you both take some time to think and you can sit down and squabble later?”

Utica sighs, pressing her fingers to her temple. “Fine, I’ll think about how we can change your program for a higher score.” Rosé rolls her eyes, but doesn’t respond. “For now we agree on the spin sequences and placement and we can work on incorporating the jumps for your combos later. Focus on the spins today and get your triple axels down. Prove to me you can perfect those first, please.

Rosé’s still pissed off, but she’s an adult. She can put aside her frustrations for later and it's decent enough gameplay for today so we she relents with a nod.

Symone lets out a relieved sigh. “Thank god that’s through. _Anyway_ , I’ve got tickets to tonight’s hockey game against Switzerland which is definitely gonna be a good one. You guys in?”

“Hell yeah,” Olivia exclaims from next to their manager. “Haven’t seen them play outside of practice since the championships. I’ve heard Denali is kicking ass this season.”

Rosé scowls, because _of course_ the amazing, impeccable Denali is kicking ass with her fancy new equipment from all of Rosé’s sponsorship money. The thought of seeing her dumb face and big eyes and stupid cheekbones sets a bitter taste in her mouth, but she agrees to go anyway. She’s not one to pass down watching a bunch of attractive women fight on the ice.

Looking forward to their Friday evening plans, practice goes well. Olivia’s still struggling with her short program, but her free skate choreography to the song Runway is almost perfect. Olivia’s a skating natural; she has a fluidity and beauty that’s rare in figure skating. Her body is toned but fluttery; her movements are a calm ocean of transitions making her combo’s a force to be reckoned with. She’s also got some impressive stamina. She doesn’t have a lot of quads in her repertoire yet - she does them well in practice, but competition pressure tends to get the best of her to keep them in her programs. When she gets over her fear, however, she’ll be fierce competition. Rosé is a little grateful she scarcely goes up against her rinkmate; the younger skaters these past few seasons have only been getting more and more talented.

Rosé has a good day as well, one of her better of the past few weeks. She’s reaching a 90% success rate on her axels and she thinks that she can probably convince Utica to give her another jump in her program, their argument from the morning none-withstanding.

Her spins are fluid and comfortable as well; they time well with the song and she’s pleased with her progress today. Rosé’s body has usual post-practice soreness but today it feels productive. Worth it. She’s still a little at odds with Utica; frustrated at her lack of ability to control her own programs. But they’ve reached a tentative truce and Rosé knows that they both regret their own stubbornness.

The hockey game starts at 5pm sharp, so Utica lets them out of practice a few hours early to go home and change before meeting at the rink.

Competitive figure skating is a _big deal_ ; there’s full crowds and attentive audiences. But the environment is vastly different than hockey. Rosé doesn’t even bother driving to the rink, knowing that the parking lots will be full to the brim and she doesn’t mind the occasional bus ride, even if this one is full of enthusiastic jersey-wearers.

The crowd of people is more rowdy than she’s used to; there’s more signs in support of the home team than skaters tend to get and far more alcohol being passed around. It’s not really Rosé’s crowd, but everyone seems to be enjoying themselves.

Because of the commotion, they all agree to just meet at their seats instead of trying to go in together. Rosé is a little early, so she goes out in search of a bathroom before grabbing concessions and heading to where Symone’s digital tickets tell her to sit.

What Rosé forgot about hockey matches is that the bathrooms leading up until game time is usually disastrous. There’s a long line and she doesn’t really fancy public bathrooms to begin with. Fortunately, she’s familiar enough with this rink setup that she knows the ins and outs a little better; the figure skating rink was under construction a few months back and the skaters were allowed to use the hockey rink to practice while the players weren’t using it.

So, instead of waiting in line with a bunch of moderately drunk fans, she seeks out the back staircase and heads down to the bottom floor bathroom, hidden from the general population. She takes special care to look purposeful in her travel so as to not get stopped, despite not actually being a part of the hockey team's players. She thanks her broad shoulders; she probably passes well enough.

There’s only 45-minutes out until the game starts, so she’s unsurprised to see that the bathroom is vacant. It’s not nearly as clean as the bathrooms at her rink, but still fares much better than the more public ones upstairs.

She finishes her business and is washing her hands when her day goes from Not Great to Okay to Not Great again. 

The reason being, as usual, Denali Foxx.

The younger woman strides into the bathroom like she owns the place, like she walks into places in general, and stops short at the sight of Rosé. She gapes for a moment, but then relaxes her face into an irksome grin. “Rosie, I know you’re a fan, but hiding in the team bathroom? Really?”

Rosé rolls her eyes, wiping her hand on the bathroom paper towels. “You wish,” she mumbles. “Your fans were crowding up the upstairs bathroom.”

“Aw, just admit it. You came to the game to see some _real_ action on the ice,” Denali wiggles her eyebrows, leaning smugly on the sink counter. “And probably me as well, right?”

“Yeah, I heard Mik and Priyanka are having great seasons; kinda weird that I haven’t heard much about you, though,” she lies transparently. “Thought you left the team. Something about how practices go past your curfew?”

Denali scoffs. “You’re just jealous our practices don’t start at ass-o’clock in the morning.” Well, she’s not entirely wrong about that. “Guess we’ll see who’s hard work pays off more at the Olympics, huh?”

Rosé scowls, “Yeah, rub it in asshole.” She didn’t think Nali would sink so low as to bring up a sore subject like that, but she supposes they’re enemies for a reason.

For her part, though, the kid looks surprised. “Rub what in?”

Rosé rolls her eyes; no surprise that Denali doesn’t keep track of her progress; why would she? “The fact that I haven’t qualified yet.” she grits out.

“Oh, right. Nebelhorn!” Denali laughs. “Awe, c’mon. You’ll qualify against those amateurs. You just got unlucky at the championships.” _So she didn’t forget_.

“Not going to qualify if I can’t convince Utica to give me a stronger program,” Rosé huffs. “You’re right, the competition isn’t going to be as good as the Championships, but with China already securing a spot I’ll only get in if I can get on or close enough to the podium.”

“You’re one of the best, there’s no way you won’t get in.” Denali says, her face serious.

Rosé can feel her cheeks heat up; Denali is nothing if not notoriously blunt. “Wanna bet?” she asks, half-serious.

Denali giggles. “If you get a spot in the Olympics, then I buy you that new pair of skates that Symone mentioned you were eyeing.”

Rosé would be stupid to turn down that offer, unless: “What happens if I lose? I know for a fact that you just bought a new pair of skates, and a new stick.”

“Hmm… what do I want…” Denali taps her fingers on her chin, breaking into a cheeky grin when she makes her decision. “You have to buy me dinner for a week.”

Rosé gulps, raising a brow. It probably doesn’t sound like an even trade to most, but she’s seen the hockey players eat. Her wallet cries from the mere concept of it. “You’re on.” she says anyway, holding out her hand. Denali shakes it and they part with matching grins.

It’s only after Rosé finds her seat next to Olivia that she realizes two things:

One, Denali Foxx has lovely hands - delicate and manicured and bony. Two, Denali Foxx had been betting for her from the start.

———

The Monday after the hockey game (their team won, but only by a hair with an impressive save by Mik and equally impressive goal by Denali) that Utica finally concedes.

“I think it’s crazy dangerous, putting two quads in the second half with one being a lutz. You know I value your safety over points,” Utica announces after Rosé and Olivia finish their morning stretches. Olivia slides onto the ice next to them, playfully bringing Symone with her despite the fact that their manager is wearing canvas shoes. 

Utica rolls her eyes fondly at the pair, continuing, “But I know how much this means to you. And you’ve been at this long enough that I need to trust your judgement.”

Rosé sighs, nodding. “And I trust yours, y’know. But, I know I can do this. I’m done messing around - I want to win. And I want to take this program to the Olympics and I want to win there too. I can’t do that with the program as is, not against fucking Yuzuru Hanyu or Nathan Chen. I want a program that can beat the _best_ of the best.”

“You’re right, _but_ if we’re going to do this I need to rework other parts of the program to fit your stamina. I started this weekend so I’ll need an extra few days to finish.” Rosé doesn’t think the rest of the program needs changing, but if Utica is willing to compromise then she is too.

“Thanks, handshake city,” she grins, wrapping her coach in a hug after a moment. “You can trust me. I’ve been doing this for years, I fall like a pro. I wont get hurt.”

Utica snorts and pulls away from the hug, shoving Rosé’s shoulder. “You’re not allowed to fall, non-negotiable.” She smiles, turning to steps onto the rink and yelling, “Livvie, Symone isn’t in your program so I suggest actually practicing your flying entry, dummy.”

Olivia laughs loudly, and Rosé releases a breath she didn’t know she was holding.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not super happy with how this chapter turned out, but I really love this au and I’m so thankful for all the kudos and comments, thank you so so much!! <3

September comes in like a lightning bolt, and with it the Nebelhorn trophy.

The flight to Germany is about eleven hours, half of it Rosé spent sleeping with the other half spent downing glasses of champagne while playing card games with Olivia and Symone. It helps to quell the nerves that have started to steadily seep in.

They land two days before the first day of competition. The jet lag causes the group to sleep half of the first day, but after a few hours of rest they set out on the town of Oberstdorf for sight-seeing and fun. Not too much fun, though; Rosé has practice on the rink the next day and refuses to be in anything less than peak condition this competition.

It’s still exciting. Oberstdorf is a quiet city, known for its winter activities and beautiful mountain scenery. Most tourists spend their time there skiing and snowboarding, but they aren’t there to risk unfortunate accidents and spend most of their time bar hoping and tasting obscure European beers.

If Rosé notices Olivia cling a little more to Symone than usual, and Symone is a little more accepting of her advances, she pretends not to. She’ll let them dance around each other as long as it doesn’t affect her skating. She’ll tease them about it later.

This trip isn’t about them.

Practice the next day comes early in the morning; jet lag hitting her once again and her body sluggish as she and Utica make their way to the rink. Only six skaters are allowed on the ice at a time to give them ample yet safe practice room, which is all well and good but somehow Rosé is always stuck with one of the earlier time slots.

Her exhaustion disappears as soon as she enters the rink.

The Nebelhorn trophy is an international competition that not just any amateur can enter; for all that they jest that it’s not as big of a deal as the Championships or Grand Prix or even the Four Continents, it still has some of the best. In years before the Olympics, it’s that much more intimidating. Elena Radionova, Kaetlyn Osmond, Alysa Liu, Lindsay Thorngren. Some of them past Olympians, others trying to make their way into it. Skaters from all over the world; those outside of her American bubble of talent.

 _This is where it becomes real,_ Rosé thinks. More real than Worlds, maybe. Worlds had 24 chances to qualify.

Here, only five. If you’re not on the podium, or very close to it, it’s over.

Rosé looks out at her competition, a mere part of it, and thinks: _I want to win gold again_.

Practice with Utica and Olivia on her home rink is much different; usually she and Olivia work on individual moves and are then given the opportunity to switch off playing music overhead to practice their full programs with ample break time in between. In a shared rink like this, Rosé has to imagine the music herself.

Her short song plays in her head first; her axel is thankfully perfect but she steps out of her two-jump combo which isn’t ideal. Her flying entry into her spin goes well, but that’s unsurprising. They’re only allowed one footwork spin but she makes sure that her’s down with precision and grace, which it is.

Practicing Phenomenon.. isn’t as great. She hears the sound of the tone and note changes; she imagines the story in her head of power and action. But three of seven spins are busts, her change foot combo will get her points but sloppy enough to not get as many as she needs. She forgets to try out her choreographed sequence altogether.

“It’s just the nerves,” Utica assures her when she steps off the ice to chug a bottle of water. “You’re still not as practiced in your free skate as you are your technical, It’s obviously going to be better.”

“I _need_ the free skate points,” Rosé groans, leaning up against her chair.

“And you’ll get them,” her coach says. “Just let yourself breathe and remember not to get all tingly and jumbled up beforehand. You mess up once and let it impact the rest of your performance. If you fail, keep hecking going! You’ve done all this a million times.”

Rosé’s not so sure; she’s never performed so many quads in a single program in her life. She starts to think that maybe Utica was right before, that she was too overzealous. But skaters are getting younger and more brave every year. If she wants to match them, she has to do it.

The rest of practice goes better; she falls out of her first salchow but nails her quad flip not long after and she feels good. It’s not perfect; she doesn’t think she has a chance of perfecting her free skate in enough time before she has to do it for real.

But she watches Liu touch down on her triple toe loop, and Osmond slip to the floor on a spin. Thorngren under-rotates her quad salchow and Radionova’s dance sequence is unimpressive.

Rosé doesn’t have to be perfect, she just has to do her best.

———

Rosé wakes up the morning of her technical well-rested. She’d reached a sense of calm before tucking herself into the hotel bed and managed to wake up just before her alarm.

There’s a few notifications on her phone; mostly a series of _good luck!_ ’s from family and fellow skaters who aren’t attending the Nebelhorn. There’s a few from the hockey team, like Priyanka, Tayce, and unsurprisingly Mik. 

There’s _also_ a number she doesn’t recognize.

**unknown**  
_knock ‘em dead_

Rosé doesn’t think she’s given her number to anyone recently.

**rosé**  
_who’s this?_

**unknown**  
_damn. don’t even have my number saved?_  
_pretty harsh rosie :/_

There’s only three people who have permission to call her that, one being Mik who only uses it when she’s plastered, Utica because she’s generally fond of nicknames for her skaters, and Olivia who’s number Rosé has practically memorized. There is, however, someone who does not have permission yet calls her it anyway. 

She’s not surprised that Denali got her number; she’s pretty sure most of the hockey team has it as well as Lala, and all of her friends like to see her suffer enough that they’d give it to her without question. It doesn’t change the fact that her finger hovers over the block button contemplative before she huffs and types in a contact name.

**rosé**  
_I don’t need your well wishes_

**punk ass hockey kid**  
_I wasn’t wishing you well_  
_I meant it literally. ur gonna have to knock em dead_  
_it’s the only way you’ll win grandma_  
_can’t wait for my week of free food <3 _

**rosé**  
_www.iceskateworld./693.min.com_  
_I’m a size 44_  
_I recommend buying them now so I can break them in when I get home_

**punk ass hockey kid**  
_you wish_  
_good luck!_  
_or whatever_

Rosé rolls her eyes, puts her phone down, and gets ready to head to the rink.

———

Rosé’s had her short program outfit for a while now, and it might be one of her favorites to skate in since she’s gone competitive.

She usually prefers tighter, more minimal outfits rather than full uniform, but _this_ one is an exception. It has a small skirt, a flowy sheer fabric with tiny silver crystals scattered up it that twinkle under rink lights. Her tights have little gems on them as well, a deep grey colour. The body suit is a black stretch velvet, soft both inside and outside that curve over her hips and pulls in her waist. The top half matches the skirt; the top cutting off just under her collarbones and sheer sleeves to highlight whatever she does with her arms. All the hems are lined with elegant embroidery that _hopefully_ picks up on the cameras.

It’s a bit on the nose for her concept, but she thinks it’s perfect. Subtle enough; she can stand out with it but also stay mature. It’s odd, having an outfit so sparkly and detailed, but if she’s going to change things up a bit, this season is the one to do it. She needs to show the younger competitors that just because she’s older doesn’t mean she’s lost her touch.

Symone wolf-whistles at her when she steps out of the locker room in the rink, giving her an appreciative once over. “Hey there, hot stuff,” 

Rosé winks at her, “You think so?”

“Oh hell yeah,” Olivia nods at her from Symone’s side. “It looks better on you today for some reason.” 

“It’s a good competition piece,” Utica beams, patting Rosé on the shoulder. “Perfect costume for a perfect routine!” 

The waiting time is one of Rosé’s least favorite parts of competition. She thanks everything that is holy that she isn’t first or last; those are the two scariest positions. _But_ it’s still challenging to watch other skaters both succeed and fail on the ice, gaze flicking towards the judges panel every second moment to attempt to gorge some sort of attitude for whoever’s currently skating. Will she be able to achieve what they do? Will she mess up like they do? She tries not to watch, but the cameras in the stretching hall beckon for her attention.

“You’re up next,” Utica whispers to her as Osmond hits the ice to start her program, as though Rosé isn’t aware.

Osmond’s music is fun, jazzy. It gets the crowd hyped up which is both a blessing and a curse. It’s nice because it means there will be less direct comparison between her skate and Rosé’s, but it also means that she can’t ride off of the crowd’s emotions going into her program; her song is darker and requires a whole new atmosphere shift.

Rosé does a lap or two around the rink before meeting Utica on the sidelines one more time. 

“You’ve got this, oh my gosh,” her coach babbles, throwing her an excited thumbs up. “Just pretend you’re doing something you like, like— um, uh… singing! Or acting. Or arguing with Denali. But also focus on skating of course—“ Rosé cuts her off with a sharp nod, giving Utica one last, shakey smile before gliding to the center and taking a deep inhale.

The track starts slow but hits hard, and her movements hit the instruments in perfect timing. Rosé’s not a master of perfect technique; she’s come to terms with it over the years. But what she _can_ do is evoke emotion.

She uses her body to show her fears; her built up of time and expectations and anxiety of it all crashing down. Her flying entry into a spin is conjoined with some of the adlib vocals and the two-jump combo is conjoined with the hit of a tambourine. She feels powerful, like the crowd can’t look away.

It’s imperfect, but perfection is a high bar to set. Her triple flip just barely had enough rotations to count and her base score for her technical isn’t particularly high to begin with. 

Still, it feels good. It feels like enough.

She lands her ending pose after what feels like an eternity on the ice, chest heaving with a familiar exhaustion. Her chest rumbles as the crowd erupts in cheers, letting out a loud sigh and basking in the afterglow. She’s going to feel sore in a few hours, but for now all she can think of is the adrenaline as she skates to the edge to await her score with Utica.

The announcer is talking about her over the intercom, but before she can listen she’s being enveloped in a full embrace by her coach. “That was the _best_ performance of your short so far, Rosie, you were glowing,” she beams, lisp coming out because of her excitement. “Don’t tell Olivia I told you this, but she definitely cried.

Rosé laughs, “It felt good,” she says, because she physically doesn’t have the energy to say more.

They take a seat at the kiss and cry bench while Thorngren gets onto the ice, staring bullets at the screen in anticipation.

**91.12**

It beats her own personal record. She can feel Utica hugging her again, but she’s afraid that if she looks away from the screen it will disappear. Her grin is so wide it hurts her cheeks but everything feels echoey in the moment, cheeks flushing and heart beat pounding like it always does after a good skate.

By the end of the first day of the competition, Rosé is in second place.

The feeling is incredible.

Rosé has done well in the past; she’s gotten gold at the Grand Prix and the Four Continents. She always does well in national competitions and remains one of the top American skaters. But her streak of loss in International competitions hit her hard; this is a reminder that she’s not all show. 

She’s a good skater; so good that she might be to go to the Olympics. _Again._

They have a calm celebration in her hotel room that night; she’s allowed one small glass of champagne and they still have to go to bed early for tomorrow. She feels a little out of breath the entire night, system still running high on the skating adrenaline. Rosé almost feels like she’s floating, still gliding on the ice effortlessly like she never really finished her routine.

It isn’t until she finally settles herself in bed that night that she turns her phone back on to see it explode in congratulations. She sends her parents and most of her friends a copy-and-paste _thank you for your support!!_ with a figure skating emoji and some hearts.

**genius mikmik**  
_i think Denali had a small heart attack when she saw your outfit for the first time_  
_u looked gorge tho_  
_good job today!!1!!!1!11!_

**rosé**  
_probably thinking about how much money she’s gonna spend on my new skates_

**genius mikmik**  
_sure, thats def why_

**rosé**  
_tysmmm btw :(_  
_surprised you guys stayed up for it_

**genius mikmik**  
_ofc. we had a watch party. part 2 tomorrow ;)_  
_image attached_

The photo is the entire hockey team in what looks to be Lala’s living room. Some of them are squished on the couch and various chairs while others were delegated to the floor, a bottle of Rosé sitting almost-empty on the coffee-table (Priyanka definitely thought that was _hilarious_.) Rosé pointedly doesn’t look at Denali holding up a peace sign with a sleepy smile on her face. Nope, doesn’t see her.

Regardless, her heart feels a little more full going to sleep that night.

———

Rosé sleeps well again the next night, but she doesn’t wake up as softly. She’s excited, sure, and proud of her performance yesterday; but the stakes were lower yesterday. If she’d failed, she could bring her score back up, she could keep looking forward.

Today she finds out if she’s actually going to the Olympics or not. 

She’s not really sure what she’ll do if she doesn’t, a heavy cloud of disappointment and doubt filling her brain if she even dares to think about it. She tries not to be anxious as she gets ready, pointedly ignoring her phone continuously lighting up with messages wishing her good luck. It _can’t_ be about luck, not today. It’s about her and what she can do.

Her practice doesn’t go as well as it did yesterday, and her body starts to feel a lot heavier. She touches down on her triple toe loop, skidding to a halt and catching her breath. If she can’t nail that one, how could she possibly hope to do her quad lutz in front of over five hundred people?

It’s fine. She’ll be fine.

Utica looks apprehensive when Rosé gets off the ice to go change, but she smiles at her anyway, giving her a friendly thumbs up and enthusiastic nod. 

Her outfit is a contrast to yesterdays; intentionally so, as the music is also so different.

Her skirt is more structured today, high waisted and dark grey with flared pleats at her hips. Her top is a tight light pink and purple gradient with a deep v-cut and sheer flowing sleeves. She has a ribbon of fabric tied in a long bow around her neck that dips over her exposed collarbones. As any good figure skating outfit has, there’s bejeweled designs throughout it, mostly up and down her sides. The whole outfit accentuates her shoulder-to-waist ratio and Rosé feels _powerful_ , a little of her confidence surging back as she does final touch ups in the mirror.

“I can practically see your nipples,” Olivia laughs when Rosé meets up with her group. Symone shoves Olivia, who just grins harder. Rosé knows she’s lying. She checked. Many times.

“You were made for these kinds of costumes, Rosé,”  
Symone awes, clapping her on the shoulder lightly. “You look like a bad bitch.”

Since she’s currently in second place, Rosé goes on second to last. Which.. it’s still not last, but it’s not great either. She feels like time stretches on as each skater hits the ice. The worst part is that everyone is in top form; skaters who fell on their jumps yesterday are landing them with ease and the ones who seemed out of rhythm with their music have found their inspiration.

She’s not the only one who wants gold. For a minute yesterday she felt like she must want it the most out of anyone here, but she was getting too confident. The skaters here are young; they have their whole careers ahead of them. But the Olympics are a touch too close and only once every four years. Four years is a long time. And they want it now.

“You beat your own record yesterday. You have something most of these skaters don’t, Rosie - _experience_. Show them everything you’ve got and more,” Utica says quietly, forehead almost touching Rosé’s.

The pinkette nods and skates to the center of the rink, stance shakey. Yesterday she felt composed and ready. Today her nerves ache through her body and the weight of the world presses against her shoulders. But none of that matters; she can’t fail now.

Her music starts and she begins.

Her first jump, the triple salchow, is perfect. She huffs as she pounds back down into the ice, skates cutting across the rink trying to regain speed and prepare for the next sequence. 

Her combination triple toe loop and flip are underwhelming, she touches down on the flip, hissing as her skates collide hard with the ice. _That’s okay._

 _Unless_ she fucks up anything else. This skate means everything in terms of getting her to the Olympics, her mind won’t clear no matter how much she tries to focus on her routine. The thought that this might be it, her future in figure skating ending over this one skate, making her muscles feel so heavy she can barely move.

Rosé grits her teeth hard, keeps skating. The song winds up and thank God her flying entry into her spin are perfect, but she doesn’t have the chance to dwell on it. She can’t feel the music at all today; her mind is a mess. The bass is pounding and notes are hitting off time and the skates feel wrong on her feet.

She’s getting seriously tired, entering the second half of the program. She wobbles into the next move, falls on her quad lutz, but she got enough rotations in and continued her program seamlessly. Both of her arms were lifted, she might be able to make up for the deductions. _It’s okay_. She completed her jumps and the base score is high.

Her final move is a spin, with her arm stretched out into the air, holding her skate in her right hand. She slows down and finishes with her ending pose, legs crossed and one arm stretched out with her other hand coming up under her chin.

The crowd erupts in applause and there’s bouquets of flowers being thrown onto the ice. Rosé’s muscles ache and she vaguely wonders why they’re applauding, waving politely at everyone but hastily getting herself off the ice. She doesn’t pick up any bouquets, blow any kisses to the audience. She doesn’t deserve it.

“You did good, you goober. Seriously; you did good,” Utica is saying when Rosé slumps off the ice. The announcers are talking about how her performance was good but not on the same level as yesterday, nailing it in her head even as she tries to drown them out.

The kiss and cry bench was welcoming yesterday; exciting. Today it burns to sit in, squirming and anxious and nothing like the powerful aura her routine held. Her heart is in her stomach as they stare up at the screen.

189.47 for a combined total of 280.59.

Rosé inhales, her whole body tightening. Her performance today was underwhelming, but yesterday’s was impressive enough. Her current standing is in third.

The next skater gets a high combined score of 313.24, bringing Rosé into fourth place. 

She’s not on the podium.

But she’s still going to Beijing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tysm for reading! Next chapter should be up aroundddd the 4th :) Lmk what u think!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Helllloooo it is I, queen of regular updates 😌 This is more dumb fluff than anything but I think you all deserved it after the overload of skating terms last chap. Iluuu I hope u like it!

The next few days are a blur of Rosé sleeping away her exhaustion and interviews. The sleeping is nice; the interviews are… okay.

“Rosé McCorkell, you were one of the few American bronze medalists in the Pyeongchang Olympics. What’s it feel like knowing you're going back?” 

Rosé takes a deep breath, nodding. “It feels good. Last season was difficult, but I think I can look at skating differently now and approach it better.”

“Is that what your new theme is about - New Beginnings, correct?”

“Mhm,” Rosé nods. “I think that being an older skater does not mean that I cannot try new things; this year I want to show that I can still keep things fresh and new.”

“I think you’re making your point quite clear, Rosé. We’re looking forward to seeing more from you.”

Overall, the reporters have been kind. Because of the language barriers, their questions remain simple and are often repetitive enough that she only has to remember a few different answers. It’ll be different when she gets called for interviews back home; they’ll ask the more challenging and invasive questions, but for now she’s comfortable.

Comfortable with her words, that is.

She hasn’t quite gotten over her free skate yet. It was humbling, which is probably a good thing. A reminder that if she wants a spot on the podium in the Olympics then she has to work harder than ever.

The plane ride home is more sleep than champagne this time, though Olivia still forces a plastic cup or two on her under the guise of celebration, and Rosé has enough mixed emotions about the whole event to graciously accept.

They took a late flight back because it was cheaper and it didn’t touch down until around two in the morning. Rosé didn’t step out of her cab, luggage in tow, until closer to three with her neck cramped and knees aching from the small space of the flight cabin.

She waves sleepily at the doorman and takes the elevator up to her second floor apartment, where she’s greeted with a package in front of her door.

Medium sized, a little heavy but a comfortable weight. There’s a shipping label on it, but both the return and destination addresses have been scribbled out haphazardly with a thick sharpie.

It’s odd for a few reasons. The sharpie scrawl is the most obviously strange, but also the fact that Rosé’s complex has a mailroom that anything would go through if it was delivered through any reputable post. Not to mention the fact that their building is strict about clean hallways; the custodians would have grabbed it had they noticed it and either brought it to the mailrooms or have just tossed it. This means that it’s only been here for a few hours at most and delivered by a resident or someone sneaky enough to get past the front guard.

It’s _suspicious_ , to say the least. Rosé should probably wait to open it; figure skating isn’t known for their over-the-top fans, but it gets enough attention that she might be considered a celebrity in some circles. It’s probably not outright dangerous, but definitely creepy.

Rosé brings the parcel into her apartment anyway and places it on the kitchen table before grabbing her box cutter. What can she say; she’s a naturally curious and trusting person. It’s probably fine.

In the cardboard box is another box, sleek black matte with a white vinyl logo in the shape of a cursive R. She’d recognize a Riedell box anywhere; she tentatively pulls off the top.

Inside is the most beautiful pair of skates she’s ever seen.

They’re clearly Aria models but… different. The usual leather boots are a crisp white with tiny Swarovski detailing and Rosé knows for a _fact_ that these particular shoes don’t typically come in her size, but the label shows a crisp size 9. She knows with absolutely certainty that they’re custom ordered; something Rosé wouldn’t dream of buying for herself.

Under the box is a folded paper receipt — her mystery purchaser seemed to have forgotten to request excluding the information. She unfolds the paper.

The cost, as she guessed, is nothing to scoff at; though it still shocks her to see the numbers on paper. That’s not the most eye-catching piece of information, however.

The billing address information is printed underneath, by the name of Denali Foxx.

Rosé had made the bet with her on a whim, a joke, shits and giggles. She would have bought Denali dinner as promised if she lost (she’s a woman of her word), but she hadn’t intended on holding Denali to _her_ deal. Not to mention that the skates she had linked were the pair she had plans to buy more herself; a more modest but still decent set and nothing in comparison to the ones in front of her. Rosé might be devious but she isn’t cruel, she had no plans to drain Denali of her hard-earned money regardless of whether or not the sponsors were supposed to have been hers or not.

The last thing she notices is the date of purchase.

It wasn’t the date of the Nebelhorn finale, when she officially qualified for the Olympics. It wasn’t even the dates just before it. It was bought _several_ weeks ago; the same date as the hockey game against Switzerland. The day they first made the bet.

Rosé’s heart skips a beat. 

**rosé**  
_did you give denali my skate size?_

**olivia**  
_yeah, why?_

Rosé isn’t surprised her fellow skater is still up after their flight. They’re always restless after competition travels and jet lag will still have a hold on them for a few days yet. She snaps a photo of the skates laying beautifully in their box, furiously typing a keyboard smash to go along with it.

**olivia**  
_WHAT??_

**rosé**  
_what do you mean wtf???? you didn’t know??_  
_why did you give her my skate size_

**olivia**  
_NO!!_  
_I assumed it was some kinky foot thing. didn’t ask ofc_

**rosé**  
_what the hell y_  
_no, yk what? don’t wanna know._  
_what the fuck do I do with them_

**olivia**  
_wdym what_  
_wear them to the olympics_

**rosé**  
_I can’t just accept this kind of thing_

**olivia**  
_sure you can!!_  
_pull some bullshit like you usually do around her_  
_“thank u my sexy arch nemesis for the boots. ill use them to step on u (consensually) <3”_  
_or whatever_

**rosé**  
_bullshit?_  
_our rivalry isn’t bullshit_  
_its real and it fuels my hatred on the ice_

**olivia**  
_…_  
_ok gal_

**rosé**  
_whatever_  
_ill thank her_

It’s not like skates customized like this can be returned without hassle, anyway. And it’s not like Denali would have a use for them. For all that she feels a little strange about the gift (bet winnings?) her heart won’t stop tightening whenever she thinks about the new skates — and the person who gave them to her, for some reason.

**rosé**  
_thanks for the skates._  
_they’re really lovely_

**punk ass hockey kid**  
_np np_  
_congrats on the win_

Rosé goes to sleep dreaming of white leather, fresh blades on the ice, and foxes.

———

Utica gives Rosé a strict week break after the Nebelhorn before she’s allowed to train again for the Olympics, a mere four or so months away. It makes sense; the skating in competitions is much more exhausting both mentally and physically than performing her routines in practice, and training is about to get far more intensive if she really aims for gold.

By Wednesday, Rosé thinks she might go insane from all the waiting.

She still goes to the rink to watch Olivia. Congratulations is as good as ever, and her short program - now titled Friends - has improved significantly. She’s come a long way this season in general, and Rosé thinks that her rink mate is going to make a big mark on Nationals this year. She has a feeling she’ll be making it to Worlds sooner rather than later.

Usually Utica shakes her head at Rosé when she tries to give Olivia pointers, not because she doesn’t trust her judgement but more so because she needs to keep focus on her own skating. Since Rosé is on the sidelines and restless, Utica lets her call out tips and words of encouragement without a fuss.

Rosé has taken a greater liking to Symone than she thought she would when they first met. They’ve tried having managers in the past, but most just half-heartedly worked on their schedules from an office elsewhere, maybe occasionally bought their flight tickets. She has a hard time remembering most of their faces from how little they were around, and usually Utica took matters back into her own hands even if it ended up being a lot of work.

Symone has been a much different experience than in the past; Rosé would tentatively call her a friend. She’s always at the rink, on the sidelines with her covered in her leather jacket and paying rapt attention. She’s attended all the events she’s been able to for both Rosé and Olivia, and she even has a journal of handwritten notes of the things she’s learned about figure skating, somewhat messy but mostly coherent besides the odd _’liv just did the most crazy ass jump I’ve ever seen’_ and the like on some of the pages.

While Rosé restlessly loiters around the rink, Symone asks her questions like “what makes an axel jump so challenging” and “what’s the difference between a toe jump and an edge jump” or “how the _hell_ is scoring calculated?” At first Rosé thought that Symone was just trying to keep him busy, but then she sees her scribbling the answers in her notebook and Rosé can’t help but smile.

The manager does have her distractions, though. Such as when Olivia’s practice skirt rides up particularly high when she jumps with two raised hands, showing off her toned legs and flexing muscles while she skates. Rosé can’t really blame her, but she still teases her relentlessly when she catches her.

It’s nice, fun, helping Utica and teaching Symone while she’s not on the ice herself. But it’s not really _enough_ \- she wants to skate again, to fix her mistakes from her imperfect long performance in Germany. She tries to barter with Utica (“Just a few hours to break in my new skates, no jumps or spins I swear,”) but she’s shot down instantly. It’s an argument Rosé knows she can’t win, so she heads home early to escape the temptation.

She doesn’t think it would be so bad though, despite Utica’s insistence. Just long enough in the new boots to get her feet used to them and avoid major blistering. Nothing strenuous.

Rosé’s hometown is only an hour outside of the city, and the small rink she grew up in is rarely busy and always welcoming. So, because she’s stubborn and not the best listener, she drives that way early Thursday morning. It’s a nice drive and traffic-free, most cars heading in the opposite direction so she pulls into the near-empty parking lot around nine in the morning.

“If it isn’t Stephanie’s child herself returning to her humble beginnings,” says the older woman at the lobby counter; the owner of the rink. 

“It’s been a while, piuthar. Thought it was time to stop by,” she grins back. 

“Oh, pish posh. You and ‘Nali just come here for a little peace and quiet. Well, can’t say I blame you for that. I for one never saw the appeal of city life myself.” 

Nali as in _De_ nali?. She must have stopped by recently. Rosé’s parents moved to the city some time ago, but as far as she knows the kid’s parents stayed behind. “Guilty as charged,” she admits with a laugh.

“Well, I wont keep you waiting. The ice is yours — don’t get too much business around this time of day with all the kids off at school.”

“Thanks, I promise to stop by more often,” she says, hoisting her bag higher on her shoulder and giving the older women a swift peck on the cheek.

Rosé heads into the familiar entryway, listening to the sounds of a lone skater on the ice as she laces up her new boots. They feel fantastic; a little tight, as new skates always are before they have a chance to mold to her feet. The titanium blades are sharp enough to cut steak and she’s extra careful of her fingers when she handles them.

Just an hour or two, she promises himself. Just long enough to get a feel for them before they make her arches sore and blister her ankles. It’s fine, Utica won't even know (she will, she always knows. Rosé should start thinking of a good excuse.)

The other skater pauses and looks up when she hears the creak of the old rink doorway swing open. Rosé strolls in casually, moving to nod her head in acknowledgement of them. Of her. A woman with dark blue hair pulled into a high pony and uptilted eyes and— _holy fuck._

Of course, as luck would have it, the skater is Denali herself.

The hockey player, for her part, looks just as surprised to see Rosé as Rosé is to see her. “Rosie! What are you doing here.. didn’t you just get back from Germany?”

Rosé doesn’t miss the quick glance down at her skates or the near imperceptible tilt upwards at the corner of her lips, smug. “Utica banned me from skating,” The pinkette huffs, cursing her natural honesty.

“I’m not sure if you’ve come to the wrong place or the right one,” Denali giggles, skating up to talk face to face. “I get it, though. When I twisted my ankle a few months ago I thought LaLa was going to sedate me to keep me in bedrest.” Rosé remembers the story of Denali’s ankle from Mik. Apparently she’d tried to sneak into the rink in the dead of night and showed up with the police on LaLa’s doorway, just getting off on a warning for breaking and entering.

At the time, Rosé had complained about his childish antics and irresponsibility. She kind of respects it now. Rosé’s been on plenty of forced breaks in the past, but she has renewed energy right now that she doesn’t wanna waste.

“If I had to stay in my apartment for another minute I would have frozen over my kitchen floor for something to do,” Rosé admits, sighing as she leans against the rink wall.

“Why didn’t you do something else? Y’know there are other places than your apartment and the rink, right?” Denali laughs. She means the jest innocently enough, but it still strings. It’s not like Rosé hasn’t thought about it. She could go to the movies, or shopping, or whatever it is people do in their freetime. But days like today have Olivia, Symone, and Utica at the rink. Her friends outside of the skating world have work during the weekdays; then there’s Mik and the other hockey players, but they usually have afternoon to evening practice. Speaking of which…

“Don’t you have to be at your rink in, like, two hours?” Rosé asks, glancing at her phone.

“Huh? Oh! Usually, yeah. LaLa forgot to tell us last minute that she has a dentist appointment, so we got a day off,” Denali explains. “I came down to surprise my parents with breakfast, but they had to leave for work and it seemed silly to just turn around and go back.” Now that Denali mentions it, the skates on her feet aren’t her usual fancy hockey pair, but rather a set of rentals.

“That’s nice of you,” Rosé says. She should probably see her own parents sometime soon; it’s been a while. “Guess I’ll leave you to it, then—,”

“We should hang out!” Denali blurts out before Rosé has time to skate away. Denali looks only mildly flushed at her outburst. “I mean, you’re not supposed to be on the ice, and I could use the time off, so…”

Part of Rosé wants to tell her to fuck off; it’s practically instinct at this point. Tell her that she makes her own decisions and that Denali probably just wants to parade around town like she owns the place, tease her for coming along even though _she_ was the one who invited her and probably make Rosé foot the bill at the end. The words are at the tip of her tongue, but there’s just no bite to accompany them. Denali is playing with her hair and avoiding eye contact, more genuine and open than Rosé has really ever seen her. She looks her age for once, not the experienced, confident ice skater that she parades as; just a twenty-year-old with big dreams and a talent for ice hockey. 

Her resolve crumbles. “Sure, kid.” Rosé relents.

“It’s okay, really, I totally get it I mean why would you— wait, what?”

Rosé shrugs. “Why not. You’re right, I’m not supposed to be skating. Wouldn’t mind some company even if it’s with the hockey brat.” 

Denali flashes her a million-watt smile and Rosé has to keep herself from thinking about how endearing it is for the grin to be pointed her way. “I know the best place.” the kid grins, before diving off the ice to return her skates.

The car ride is a little awkward. Denali offers to drive since she knows the way to wherever they’re going — Rosé had to ask for ID and everything to make sure she even has her licence. They mostly listen to the local radio station, which plays hit tracks from a few years ago that are only really there to fill the silence. They don’t have much to say; they’re not used to each other’s presence without other people around.

But Rosé doesn’t mention how Denali’s poster was on the first doorway entrance to the rink nor how she’s wearing an unreleased FILA sweatshirt that could have been hers. Denali doesn’t take the opportunity to tease her about her age or her lack of anything better to do, so it’s companionable enough.

They finally pull into another almost deserted parking lot. “Ta-da!” Denali exclaims with a dramatic wave towards the front window.

Rosé recognizes the old building immediately. “The… arcade?” she asks, shooting the younger woman a puzzled look. The sign is still red but seems to be ever fading; the ‘a’ is on its last life and hanging by a wire while most of the bulbs in the rest of the sign seem to be shattered.

Denali grins and nods eagerly, more like a young child than a professional hockey player.

“Is it even open at this time of day?”

“Yup,” Denali hums, popping the ‘p.’ “Best time to come.” She jumps out of the car, heading towards the entrance of the old building.

The arcade has been a town staple for years, built just before Rosé turned ten years old. At the time it was like a carnival for the youth of all ages. She’s a little surprised to see it still standing, though Rosé supposes there’s not much else to do around here.

She follows Denali inside and it’s exactly as she remembered it. The place is practically empty aside from the bored looking employees; the only atmospheric sounds come from tinny speakers playing retro electronic music and the games beckoning them to “ _Give it a try! See if you can win!_ ”

The ground carpet is the same colorful mismatch of shapes that only to seem to acquire more and more soda stains through the years. The air gives off a faint smell of dust and popcorn. Despite its peeling walls and yellow lighting, Rosé can appreciate the vintage charm. It feels ageless; the newest machine seems to be a full setup of Dance Dance Revolution but the most recent hit is Bang Bang Bang.

“I try to stop by whenever I’m around to see if anything’s changed,” Denali beams as she wistfully gazes across the expanse of blinking machines.

“Let me guess… it hasn’t?” Rosé raises a brow, earning a huff of laughter from Denali.

“Not at all,” she nods. “So, Rosie. I chose the place. That means you gotta choose the game.”

Rosé didn’t spend a ton of time at the arcade when she was younger. Most of her childhood was realizing her love for skating and then recognizing that if she didn’t put her full energy into it she would never make it anywhere. It was difficult, putting all of her time into a relatively lonely sport. Worth it; wouldn’t change her mind for the world. But challenging for sure.

She tries to think back to the few times where she did manage to enter the arcade; what games she enjoyed, which ones are similar to the ones she plays on her switch in her lonely, quiet apartment.

The layout has, unfortunately, changed enough that it takes a bit for Rosé to find a few she wants to play. A long time Mario fan, there’s a few vintage machines from the early 90’s that have a similar enough gameplay to the one’s she’s found time to play through the years. She chooses them as her first rounds, despite Denali’s groans about how they’re the oldest machines and the buttons stick the most.

For all that she complains, Denali still wins.

“What the hell! I thought you didn’t like these kinds of games!” Rosé scowls, throwing her hands in the air with defeat.

Denali turns to her with a smirk. “I am the master of the arcade, Pinky. Just accept it.”

Rosé scoffs at the nickname. “Hell no, we’re playing again. I’m just getting started.”

They play a few more rounds and eventually Rosé does win, so she allows Denali to choose the next game.

There in the arcade for what must be hours, switching from monster games to first person shooters to pinball.

Rosé wouldn’t say it out loud, but she’s having a good time. Denali isn’t the worst company she could have had on an adventure like this. Once they get past the initial awkwardness, banter and conversation come easy; Rosé is no longer thinking about Nebelhorn or the problems with her program. Instead, she’s laughing as Denali’s face flushes playing skeeball while Rosé puts on a dramatic sports announcer voice at every move she makes.

The arcade starts to fill up as young adults and teens leave their daytime obligations, and Rosé suggests they think about heading out soon.

“One more game. No trip to the arcade is complete without a round of DDR,” Denali insists.

Rosé isn’t one to admit to her faults when she doesn’t have to, however: “I’m more of a singer, to be honest.”

“Oh c’mon, you have Utica for a coach. You’ve seen two left feet — you’ll be fine,” Denali pleads. She’s looking up at Rosé with her big, dumb, shining round eyes, and how the hell is she supposed to say no to that?

“One round. Winner buys dinner,” Rosé grins with a last-ditch effort to get out of playing.

As expected, Denali hesitates. “You’ll lose on purpose.”

“Nals, have you met me? I would give up my first born before I lose to you on purpose.”

Denali considers this for a moment, then nods. “Okay, you’re on.”

They wait for a pair of girls to finish their round of Girls Generation and then hop on to the electronic stage.

“I dibs song choice,” Rosé says as she scrolls through the choices with the console buttons.

She selects Mirotic by TVXQ and pointedly ignores the muttered “old woman taste” comment from Denali before they begin.

Rosé hasn’t played Dance Dance Revolution in forever, and she forgot how fucking exhausting it is. The bet is completely out of her mind as she races through the directional combos, yelling when she misses a step. She doesn’t risk a glance at Denali but she can hear the way the other’s feet stomp on the arrows with fevor.

The song is just over three minutes, but it feels like ten by the time it’s over, both players panting and bangs sticking to the sweat of their foreheads. Someone nearby gives an entertained slow clap.

 _WINNER: PLAYER 2!_ flashes across the screen in pixelated lettering.

Oh. That’s Rosé.

“What!” Denali gapes at the screen in disbelief, groaning and draping herself over the dance bar in pain.

Rosé grins so wide her cheeks start to hurt. “Who’s the arcade master now, punk?” It’s worth paying for dinner for this moment, even though Denali eats like a black hole.

“Again! Double or nothing! Winner pays for dinner _and_ desert!”

“No way! What if I win again? I’m not paying for both.”

“Okay, this time loser pays instead!”

“No way, ‘Nali. I’m leaving this arcade the reigning queen of DDR and that’s that,” Rosé flounces with a wave as she starts to make her way out of the building exit.

“You can’t be a champion after one game!”

“Watch me,” Rosé calls out without stopping, smiling to herself as she hears Denali sigh in defeat.

The hockey player brings them to a local hot pot place. Rosé wanted to protest, hot pot is more of a group outing kind of meal, but Utica gave her ample cheat room on her diet plan this week, so she’s ready to inhale enough food to make herself satisfyingly ill.

“I didn’t know you liked spicy food,” Denali says when their waitress leaves after taking their orders in the small private room. The restaurant isn’t new, exactly, but Rosé’s never been during her brief travels back. It’s cozy, more traditional than a lot of Asian places in New Jersey. 

“Love it, but it upsets my stomach so I don’t eat too much of it in the on season,” she explains. “You?”

“I’ll eat pretty much anything anyone puts in front of me,” Denali giggles. “But I think if I could have one thing for the rest of my life, it would be chocolate milk.”

They spend the evening shoving food into their mouths and talking; there’s never a dull moment. They argue about the best milkshake flavors and go into what they would take with them if they were stuck on a deserted island. (Denali says chocolate milk, a cell phone to watch hockey, an extra pair of running shoes, and a notepad. Rosé says a microphone, her favorite cooking pan, a pair of dangling earrings, and a big bottle of champagne.)

Rosé tells Denali about her goat adoption retirement plan and Denali tells her about how she wants to go on to be a dancer after playing hockey. Rosé takes care of most of the meat grilling while Denali carefully stirs the pot.

They’re almost at their food limit when the younger woman heads for the bathroom, leaving Rosé alone with her thoughts.

It’s been a long time, she thinks, since she’s gotten to know someone new. She doesn’t have much time, or energy, for socializing and any time she meets someone at competitions there’s enough of a language barrier to talk about anything that isn’t skating. It never really bothered Rosé before, but now she wonders about other opportunities she might be missing out on.

She pointedly doesn’t look at how stunning Denali is under the light of the restaurant when she returns. Friends are certainly not the only thing she’s missed out on, but she carefully doesn’t think of alternatives.

Rosé takes her turn to the bathroom, but when she finishes her business and steps out she sees Denali ready to go at the entrance. “Hold on, let me just pay real quick,” she says, but Denali stops him.

“Oh, don’t worry about it. I took care of it,” she says with a smile, but Rosé feels her stomach sink.

“That wasn’t the deal, Denali,” she says, unable to escape the bitter tone in her voice as she walks past the younger and out of the door.

“I know that. It felt weird, y’know, having you pay when I was the one who lost and wanted to come here!” Denali pleads, grabbing Rosé’s arm and pulling her around to face her. Her smile has disappeared and Rosé feels a pain in her chest.

“I just. I don’t need your pity. I’m not some broke washout, even if I don’t get the same opportunities as you do anymore,” Rosé sighs, though it lacks bite. She wonders who she’s trying to convince more: Denali, or herself.

“I wasn’t though, I swear! C’mon, Rosé. You’ve gotta know by now that I wouldn’t. I like…” she pauses, turning away from Rosé to walk away, and says quietly: “I like seeing you happy.”

Rosé feels her cheeks heat up, hopefully concealed by the lack of light in the parking lot. She propels herself forward, tapping Denali on the shoulder and matching her pace next to her as they head towards the car. “What did you say?”

“Nothing! I didn’t say anything!” she mutters back quickly, finally reaching the car and swinging herself into the drivers seat.

“Aw, Nali! Are you secretly an ice skating fangirl? All this time, have I been your idol? Do you keep a picture of me in your locker?” Rosé teases, laughing as she settles into the passenger seat and reveling in the way Denali’s face gets more red by the second.

“No way; you’re annoying. The worst. I want the skates back,” she pouts, sliding down into the car seat and covering her red face.

Rosé is slowly learning not to fall for the younger’s taunts. “No, you think I’m cool as hell.”

Denali finally turns to her again, pauses for a moment, then smiles with a huff of laughter. “Yeah. Yeah, I do.” she starts the car and begins driving back to the old rink.

Rosé’s heart wouldn’t stop beating the entire drive.

———

They part ways in the evening after Denali drops Rosé off at her own car with promises of hanging out again.

Unfortunately, they don’t really get the chance. Rosé is thrown back into training with a vengeance and dreams of gold, and it seems that the same can be said for the hockey team after an eye-opening defeat against Canada.

But they text now; more than just dry good luck messages and arguments. Denali sends her figure skating memes and Rosé outlines her plans to lock Symone and Olivia in the supply closet so she doesn’t have to listen to Olivia pine or watch Symone daydream in the middle of group meetings. They also still occasionally see each other at what have been dubbed “skate family dinners” between the hockey team and figure skaters. Rosé doesn’t want to admit it, but maybe _someday_ , in like a past life or something, they could possibly be friends.

**olivia**  
_so did you guys finally resolve your sexual tension or what_

**rosé**  
_im going to tell symone everything you described her as after tequila at mine the other night_  
_everything._

**olivia**  
_got chu! no worries! minding my own business! xx_

Denali is still a bit arrogant, and stubborn to a fault. Rosé is still a bit jealous when she sees her featured on ads as she scrolls through social media or when she sees her wearing a fancy new pair of Nike’s. But Rosé is working on it; she’s trying to let these petty thoughts go. She didn’t get into skating for the fame or the money. She skates because he loves it and wants to show the world something beautiful.

She still doodles mustaches and devil horns on some of Denali’s magazine spreads — most of which she goes out specifically to buy — but now she sends them to Denali for a laugh and the younger woman tells her she should quit figure skating to become an artist. Character development.

Days turn into weeks and weeks turn into months. Rosé and Olivia train like hell and their programs are shaping up to be something fierce. They take a few days off for Christmas to be with their families and then the New Year is just a few days away.

There’s just over a month left of practice before it’s game time.

“Rosie, you’re coming to the annual New Years party at LaLa’s tomorrow, right?” Olivia asks out of the blue one afternoon after practice. They’re in the locker rooms changing out of their sweat-soaked training wear.

“Are you going to get blackout drunk again?” Rosé asks as she dips her hair under the sink to get out the sweat.

“Hey, it’s the one day a year that Utica doesn’t limit my alcohol intake!”

“So… yes?”

Olivia sighs. “It’s a solid _probably._ But that’s beside the point. I need your help,” she whispers, passing Rosé a dry towel to pat down her hair.

“My help? With what?”

“I need you to make sure I don’t try to make-out with Symone.”

Rosé stares at Olivia in the middle of the bathroom for a solid minute, waiting for an explanation that doesn’t come. “And that would be a problem… why?” she asks incredulously.

Olivia gorans, throwing her upper body over the sink and leaning her forehead on the marble. “You’ve met ‘mona! She’s like… I dunno. She’s a fashion and makeup and romance kind of girl! If I hit on her when I’m drunk she’s gonna think I’m not serious!”

“You could just. Not drink?” Rosé suggests.

“ _Rosé_ ,” Olivia whines, turning her face and pouting up at her senior.

“Okay, okay,” Rosé laughs, throwing her hands up in surrender. “I’ll do my best to make sure you don’t make-out with Symone at the New Years party. No promises, though.”

Olivia perks up, nodding in satisfaction before wrapping Rosé in a tight hug. “Thanks. Now if you need help with Den—“

“Finish that sentence. I dare you,” Rosé threatens, tightening her arms around the smaller skater. 

“Den…..ying all of those drinks everyone is going to be offering you? Because you’re so gorgeous?”

“Exactly,” Rosé hums, patting Olivia’s head before they leave the bathroom to finally go home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and kudos keep me motivated! :) I hope u enjoyed it !


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the short wait! I’m not sure if you noticed, but I’ve actually extended this story by one chapter 0.o Thank you to my angel Puddle for betaing!!

Despite Rosé’s protests, Olivia decides that she’ll dress her for the party, something about how “you’ll just give up and wear jeans and I refuse to be seen with someone so lacking in effort, even if you’re pretty enough to pull it off.” Harsh, but fair.

It’s late in the afternoon when the younger skater shows up at her apartment doorstep the day of the party. “First order of business — shirts.” she announces after they exchange pleasantries and Rosé puts a pot of tea on.

“I was thinking of wearing my pink sweater.” she suggests, pulling out a set of mugs.

Predictably, Olivia groans. “Why are you like this?” She asks.

“I look good in sweaters! They make me look friendly and approachable.” Rosé shrugs back.

“Y’know like three quarters of the people there, they already know you’re friendly and approachable. Parties are for showing a new side of you, namely the _sexy_ one.”

“All of my sides are sexy.”

“You know what I mean.”

Rosé laughs and gives in, because not only is it impossible to stop Olivia once she’s made a decision, but she also figures it wouldn’t hurt to try a new style. _No_ , it doesn’t have anything to do with a certain starry-eyed young hockey player with an attitude. Not in the slightest. 

Rosé sits on her bed and watches as Olivia rummages through her closet, pulling out as many articles of clothing as she can find and tossing them haphazardly on the floor. Rosé is gonna have to pick that up on her own later, she can tell.

“Aha! Found it!” Olivia calls out, pulling an unfamiliar black fabric out of nowhere. “Try this on.” She demands, tossing it to Rosé who catches it out of the air masterfully before holding it up to inspect.

“You’re joking,” Rosé deadpans. “Olivia, you were supposed to return this when I told you to after you tried to give it to me for my birthday.” She was grateful for even getting a gift, of course, but Rosé knew that that particular shirt was destined to live in the back of her wardrobe for all eternity.

The reason being that it’s pretty much 75% transparent.  
The top in question is simple at a glance; textured black with a light shimmer to it and a typical crop-top shape. That was all well and good, besides the fact that it was incredibly see-through besides an opaque black strip of fabric that goes just over her nipples, precariously at best. She might as well not wear a shirt at all.

“I _know_ but I didn’t! Because I knew the day would come when you need it.” Olivia grins, already sifting through her pants drawer.

She takes another minute to go through her pants options, pulling out a dark burgundy pair of jeans that Rosé probably hasn’t worn in over a year with a satisfied nod. “Perfect. These, your black belt, and those nice strapless heels you have. Go try it on,” she orders.

Rosé’s skeptical, but intrigued enough with her friend’s vision to give it a shot. It’s not bad, she’ll give her credit for that. The mesh shirt is embarrassing but surprisingly comfortable (and, not so surprising, very breathable.) As long as she drinks a glass of wine before they head out she’ll be comfortable enough to wear it without wanting to cover up. The pants are older but seem to fit better with age; they used to fit loose, but now they stretch over her thighs and make her look taller. It’s not a bad outfit. 

“I’m a genius.” Olivia hums when Rosé returns from the bathroom where she was changing. “I’m gonna _partially_ tuck the shirt in. If I see any less tucked or any more untucked then I’m going to fix it for you myself in front of everyone, do you hear me?” She carefully adjusts part of Rosé’s shirt into her pants; it would be too close for comfort for most, but they’ve long grown past privacy after years of sharing a changing room together.

“Got it, got it. They stay where they are, understood.”

“The exception is, of course, if a certain someone tries to take them out for you—“

“Olivia, c’mon.” Rosé rolls her eyes. Her friend has been a little more relentless lately about mentioning _you-know-who_ and Rosé is running out of threats to get her to drop it.

“I know, I know. It’s just,” She finishes fiddling with Rosé’s clothes and sits herself on the bed. “I can tell things are different, lately. Like, you guys get along and you— you seem really happy.”

Rosé _is_ happy lately, she thinks. Since really befriending Denali — she doesn’t enjoy admitting it, but that's basically the truth — her life hasn’t changed that much. But Olivia’s right, she is different. She doesn’t hate anytime spent not skating when its spent talking to Denali instead, her skin hasn’t been breaking out from stress despite literally preparing for the fucking _olympics_ , and sure, maybe she does sleep a little more soundly after the younger skaters usual “goodnight!!! Xx” texts. 

“I know you’re a private person, Rosie,” Olivia continues. “I’ll stop bringing it up if that’s what you want. But it’s okay to remember that you’re allowed to be a human outside of figure skating,. yYou can have nice things that aren’t record-breaking scores and gold medals.”

She’s right,. Rosé knows she’s right. But it’s a little scary, too, to hope for the perfect balance. To work as hard as she is in her sport right now while maintaining… something else. She’s tried before, and it’s never worked out. Skating will always come first. Still, she’s finding herself more and more curious lately.

“Thanks, Liv,” Rosé smiles earnestly. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Good! Now, for the finishing touches — makeup!”

———

While Olivia had high hopes for a night of excessive drinking, what she didn’t consider was that this year Nationals were just a few weeks into January and Utica wasn’t going to be as lenient as in the past.  
Olivia’s got a drink limit of two, while Rosé was given a hearty four drinks. Not that this particularly matters; both skaters scarcely drink through the skating seasons and try not to develop a taste for it off-season, so they’re notorious light weights. Olivia might not get blackout on two drinks, but it’ll be enough for a good time. Rosé’s tolerance is just barely higher; she doubts she’ll make it to the fourth drink she’s been allowed.

Symone offers herself the role of designated driver for the group of skaters, given that she’s not one for alcohol in the first place. She’s also tasked with keeping Rosé and Olivia to their limits, since Utica will definitely be too busy drunk-making out with Mik to actually keep an eye on them.

(The Mik and Utica thing is an unexplained phenomenon — they consistently make out at every party and then make no mention of it again, despite Rosé’s frequent prying to get Mik to admit they actually have feelings sometimes.)

Usually, Olivia would be safe from making an advance on Symone if she’s not significantly drunk enough. But when their manager picks them up from Rosé’s place dressed in a sleek black jumpsuit and dreads wrapped into a bun, Rosé’s a little surprised Olivia didn’t try to take her then and there.

As promised, Rosé drank a glass of wine before heading off to the party, and now she wears the mesh shirt without feeling the need to keep her arms crossed comfortably over her torso. She feels pleasantly warm and relaxed once they get to LaLa’s apartment.

Olivia was right; they know most of the people there. Of course, the whole starter lineup for the hockey team is there along with their substitutes and backup players. There’s other ice skating teams and their coaches as well; a few pair skaters and some ice dancers. Rosé is on good terms with a lot of the men’s single’s players and she’s looking forward to catching up, especially to congratulate some of them on their Olympic qualifications as well.

“Rosie!” she hears a familiar squeal from somewhere in the crowd, and she stops dead in her tracks when she turns to the speaker.

It’s Denali — of course it’s Denali — but it’s definitely a _different_ Denali. 

Seeing her dressed up outside of photoshoots and ads is a whole new game. It’s not the first time Rosé has seen her clean up in person, but in the past she’s been able to completely avoid looking at her under the excuse of “she’s my rival who I refuse to interact with.” Now they’re friends and she doesn’t have a choice.

Denali’s wearing a leopard print shirt and it’s probably the ugliest thing Rosé has ever seen. But it’s got practically half of the buttons undone and display’s her solid collar bones and toned stomach and lacy black bra in almost all of its glory. It’s tucked into leather skinny jeans and stretch over her thighs in a way that sends a heat down to her stomach. Maybe the wine hit her a little more than she first thought.

“Hey, Dee,” she waves, hopefully not sounding like she’s having an internal meltdown. Denali tries to be subtle, but Rosé doesn’t miss the quick glance down at her own figure. “How’s practice been lately?”

“Wow, you look hot for once,” Denali smiled, “Did you accidentally lose all of your sweaters?”

Rosé doesn’t flinch, “You just admitted that I look hot.” She delights in the flush that appears on the younger woman’s cheeks, still visible in the dark party lights.

“Well, yeah, you’re hardly wearing a shirt.” Denali scoffs, “Anyway, wanna watch Priyanka kick Kiara’s ass at titanic?”

“Hell yeah I do.” Rosé grins, breaking the tension to go watch their friends.

The new years parties are always fun, but this year is significantly more so. They watch as Priyanka somehow manages to never make her tequila glass sink into the beer before it tips, causing Kiara to drink the concoction every time. Once that gets boring and it’s clear that Kiara will never win, Rosé and Denali make their rounds after getting another drink for themselves.

They make their way over to where most of the hockey team is playing a game of high-low soju cap and taking a dizzying amount of shots between them. Rosé and Denali make bets on who will get the high numbers, offering up prizes like Rosé’s “penny I found under my car seat yesterday” or Denali’s “half-eaten cupcake she left in LaLa’s fridge three days ago and still hasn’t been thrown out.” Rosé laughs until her stomach hurts and her head feels a little fuzzy. She blames it on the drinks and definitely not the proximity of the younger skater standing next to her. 

They eventually find their way to Symone and Olivia; Olivia’s face is flushed from the alcohol and she has an arm wrapped around one of Symone’s, but she seems like she’s having fun and hasn’t made any rash decisions yet. Her eyes are alight and her smile wide; Rosé revels in her happiness. “What have you guys been up to?” Symone drawls, fingers subtlety rubbing the arm Olivia’s thrown over her shoulder.

“People-watching, mostly,” Denali hums, “I don’t really feel like drinking and besides, I would just win everything so it wouldn’t be fun,” She winks teasingly at Rosé and it makes her heart skip.

“‘Nali is verrryyyyy g—good at games!” Rosé laughs, thinking about the racing mobile app they’ve taken to playing on the occasional evenings. Denali smiling smugly and teasing her whenever she beat her.

Olivia’s eyebrows shoot up, “Wait.. are you...?” she says, putting a hand to Rosé’s forehead and smirking. “Maybe this year it won’t be _me_ waking up in LaLa’s bathroom over the toilet.” 

Rosé swats her hand away, rolling her eyes (though it makes her a little dizzy.) She’s drunk, but like, not _that_ drunk. Probably. She’ll drink a glass of water in a second. She’ll be fine.

“Oh?” Symone turns to Olivia, smiling. She looks absolutely enamored; Rosé kind of wants to shove their faces together, but she’s pretty sure that’s the opposite of what Olivia told her to do, so she restrains herself. “Do tell.”

Olivia shoves her, coughing. “Nevermind. Look! The countdown is starting!”

Most of the attendees have turned to look at LaLa’s large flat screen, which Rosé’s pretty sure she only bought to watch hockey on. They’re playing a livestream of New Jersey’s firework show set to go off at midnight. _Thirty seconds._

Rosé looks over to Denali next to her, trying to steady her gaze. Her face is a little oily from the warmth of the crowded apartment and her navy hair has fallen out of place from their adventuring. But her eyes are shining and she’s smiling towards the screen so wide that her cheeks look puffy and her lips look soft and Rosé can’t look away. _Fifteen seconds._

She reaches her hand up and softly places it on Denali’s shoulder, right up by her neck, heart pounding in her ears so loud she can hardly register what Denali says next. The younger woman turns to her, a smile still on her face. “Rosie?” she giggles, tilting her head in what might be the cutest way possible. Denali looks at Rosé like she hung the moon in the sky. _Ten seconds_

Rosé stands there, eyes switching from the countdown to the crowd before inevitably being sucked back into the swirling vortex of Denali. It took a few seconds for the full force of her feelings to crash into her. They hit her, like a rocket approaching escape velocity. Like a fucking arrow hurdling towards its target. Like a cannonball approaching the wall of a badly made, poorly defended fortress. 

_Five seconds._

Rosé breaks the distance and kisses her. 

The crowd yells around her and the fireworks sound off the television speakers, but Rosé can’t hear any of it because _holy shit_ , she broke the distance and kissed her.

Denali freezes for just a second before responding, pushing back up against Rosé’s lips. After the initial awkwardness and angling of their faces, she learns that Denali kisses like she does everything else in life; stubborn, passionate, and unyielding. She quickly works her way into Rosé’s mouth to deepen the kiss and grasps at the older woman’s waist, like she’d been waiting for months for this moment to happen. It sends a heat coursing through Rosé’s body, filling up her entire being with the same warm pink colour as her name.

She tries not to think about how Olivia mentioned the untucking of her shirt and who might be doing it. Instead, she cards her fingers through Denali’s hair, smiling against her lips. Olivia laughs and mutters something next to her, dragging Symone away. Rosé pays them no mind and instead focuses on biting at Denali’s bottom lip to take back the lead she somehow lost.

Rosé doesn’t know how long they stand there, ignoring everyone and everything around them and only focusing on how to get closer. Unfortunately, she knows her body well and her stomach turns familiarly. “Fuck, oh my god I’m drunk, I have to—,” she pulls away and sprints towards the thankfully empty bathroom. 

Rosé promptly throws up everything in her stomach.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will not let them have anything nice Xx


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhhhhh I’m sorry for the wait yet again!! I hope I can write a little faster so these chapters get uploaded more regularly :) this is more of Symone/Olivia focus but I hope u enjoy it regardless, I’ll give u more to clown over next week!!
> 
> Also, I’ve yet again added an extra chapter to the total bc whoops idk how I’m gonna part with this au LMAO

Rosé avoids Denali.

She wakes up the night after the New Years' party with a headache, upset stomach, and sense of dread as she remembers the events of the night before; from the games, to the kiss, to being carted home while apologizing. They went to Olivia’s apartment where she spent the rest of the night moping on the couch.  
The whole… starting to like Denali as _more than a friend_ thing was never supposed to happen. Hell, the whole being Denali’s friend in general thing wasn’t meant to happen either. But it’s not even about Denali, not really at least.

Rosé’s tried relationships before, it’s not like it’s something she doesn’t want. It never ended well; competitive figure skating at her level is exhausting. Time that isn’t spent training is spent loafing around, not going on dates or adventures or anything. It always ended in, “you’re no fun, Rosé, you only care about your career.” and maybe it’s true. All those girls were fine, good girlfriends. Yet she has chosen her skating over any of them in a heartbeat.

Rosé didn’t think she could ever feel as she does about Denali, maybe she’s been ignoring her feelings all along. She has always found her attractive, sure, but she couldn’t fall in love with her as long as she was the enemy. The one stealing her shoots and her sponsorship money and her hometown pride.

But Rosé has made the mistake of getting to know her; got to see her as Denali the person, not Denali the hockey player. It didn’t take long before her heart leaped at a new text notification from her, or the way she felt herself smile when Denali saved her a seat at dinner. It’s the fun of having a new friend, she’d lied to herself. Maybe it had started that way, but even she wasn’t a good enough actor to pretend it was still like that.

The thing about Denali is that it’s different with her than her other ex-girlfriends. They hadn’t _really_ known Rosé; they thought she was a pretty girl on the ice but closed off and unaspiring off of it. They stuck around for her looks, and maybe her competition money. Denali really, truely knows her; she knows that she’s funny, excitable, and passionate. Denali also knows her flaws; that she’s stubborn, competitive, and holds a grudge. Yet she hung out with her anyway. She stayed.

Regardless, Rosé isn’t cut out for relationships at all. Denali might understand Rosé’s busy schedule and travel for competition but only because she has to do the same. It’s worse, almost; Rosé practices in the morning and Denali in the late afternoon, never being able to spend a full day with each other. Their competition dates might not line up and they’ll be out of the country at different times. They might try to make it work and then inevitably get burnt out.

Rosé’s skating can’t possibly take the emotional hit. The possible frustrations, sadness, maybe even heartbreak. Rosé _has_ to win the Olympics. She has to keep going or it’s over, everything she’s worked for and she’ll fade out of skating history without a real impact. She doesn’t have the time or the emotional space for a relationship right now.

So, as Rosé does with a lot of her problems, she ignores it. She doesn’t look at Denali’s texts or attend hockey dinners. She doesn’t pay the occasional visit to the hockey court to watch the last minutes of Denali’s training,she avoids seeing her at all costs. Rosé doesn’t herself to be able to pull away from the sink hole of Denali Foxx, so she runs.

Olivia, Symone, and Utica are clearly worried, she can see them exchange glances and attempt to get her alone to talk. They see how her skating is perfect but her face is carefully blank, stoic, and underwhelming since she doesn’t allow herself to think of Denali’s grin during performances.

For all that they want to help her, however, this month isn’t about Rosé.

“You’re gonna do amazing,” Rosé whispers in Olivia’s ear during a hug on the first day of the American National Tournament. Olivia looks adorable, standing on the side of the rink with Symone and Utica. Her outfit for her free skate is a shimmery deep purple leotard with a tight matching purple skirt, the white shirt underneath flows out from under it and moves like silk. She’s a lovely blend of playful but here for business.

“Thanks, Rosie,” Olivia smiles up at her, “I wouldn’t be here without you.”

All the hours Olivia spent practising her routine have paid off; Her jumps all have the right amount of rotations, even if she lifted on the wrong edge of her triple loop. She manages one of the cleanest quadruple salchows Rosé has ever seen from her. She perfected her flying entry so that it looks absolutely effortless, and her change foot combo has the audience absolutely charmed. The performance focuses on meeting new people; she uses her arms and expressions to mime dancing with an unseen figure. It makes Rosé’s heart ache for reasons she doesn’t want to dwell over, she ignores it in favor of cheering loudly and throwing a pink rose onto the ice when Olivia lands her final pose.

Liv goes with Utica to the Kiss and Cry with a big smile and Rosé stays behind with Symone to watch the big screen in anticipation.

**83.32.**

Rosé squeals a loud, _“that’s my fucking rinkmate!”_ before she high-fives Symone who’s wearing a matching grin. They go over to the waiting area and Olivia stumbles out with Utica close behind, eyes lighting up when she sees them. Rosé smiles widely at her, pulling her into a tight hug. There are tears in Olivia’s eyes from what was probably a good cry on the bench. The group goes back to their hotel that evening after Olivia finishes talking to the press and stretching. They chat for a little while until they settle into their respective rooms, eager for tomorrow.

The pressure is on in the morning of the free skate. The ranking here determines the eligibility for next season’s international competitions.

They’re once again waiting on the rinkside for the other skaters to perform. They’re certainly talented; even though it’s called the senior division, the other competitors are young and full of energy and ambition. But Rosé knows they’re no match for Olivia.

Symone takes her turn for a pre-program hug. She whispers something in Olivia’s ear and then gives her a fleeting kiss on the cheek, pulling away with a smirk. Olivia laughs, eyes shaped like crescent moons, before she gracefully skates off to the middle of the rink. She’s posed like the calm before the storm. Her outfit today is all-white, it has a stretch base with a chiffon top layer, embedded in crystals throughout. It’s got a smattering of same-fabric ribbons over her waist, wrists, and around her neck. She looks ethereal, angelic.

Olivia’s theme for this season is ‘Falling in Love.’ Her free skate was meant to be about first meetings and learning how each person moves, while the main performance is about the height of being in love, being with someone whom you feel is perfect for you. Rosé thinks her programs have become more beautiful since Olivia started to understand those feelings for herself as of late.

The song is soft, which can be difficult to skate to and keep the audience interested. Olivia, however, owns it completely, putting her viewers in a trance. She doesn’t have a lot of fancy jumps and quads in her repertoire, but she’s a rare breed of skater that doesn’t need them to keep her audience engaged. She could make up for any lacking base points in performance points alone. That being said, she does an amazing job at the moves she does have. She’s got six jumps in this one; all of her quads are in the first half but three of the jumps in the second. She also manages to raise both arms in the first two without stumbling. Her camel spin is maybe one of the most beautiful displays of it that Rosé has ever seen. The white chiffon billows around her like it was made for this dance.

Olivia strikes her ending pose, crossing her legs and curving her body with one arm reaching out to hold a hand that isn’t there. She’s obviously panting, but she’s smiling; possibly even crying again.

Symone greets her at the rink exit, wrapping her in a hug and spinning her so her feet leave the ground. “I can’t stand you. You’re the most talented person I’ve ever met,” she utters, glowing in Olivia’s arms. “You _killed_ that.”

“I know!” Olivia laughs, but it’s genuine and lovely. “I couldn’t even hear the music, I was so scared.”

“I’m going to need to step up my game if you keep skating like this,” Rosé hums, wrapping the younger skater in a one-armed hug and kissing the crown of her head. Olivia’s face is flushed as she giggles in response.

Utica steals her away, arm over Olivia’s shoulders as she brings her to sit at the kiss and cry. Symone and Rosé are left again to await the scores in anticipation.

 **190.62** for a combined total of **273.94**. She’s currently in second place.

Watching the last two skaters after Olivia is _agonizing_ ; they’re amazing, but there’s the competitive side of Rosé that wants to see them mess up, to under-rotate, to step out of their spins. Anything to keep their scores under Olivia’s.

They do. The final skater gets their score at the kiss and cry and receives a combined total of 268.79. They get bronze on the podium. Olivia will get silver.

Olivia starts to cry tears of joy, smudging her mascara lightly, jumping lightly up and down. “You did it, you dumbass! You’re amazing!” Symone yells once the skater hurries back to them, grabbing her hands and pulling her into a kiss.

Onlookers _ooh_ and _ahh_ at the sight of them, Olivia freezes at the touch but then jumps into Symone’s arms as they hold each other. Utica and Rosé exchange matching grins. It doesn’t last long; Olivia is dragged off to get her makeup and hair touched up before she heads to the podium to receive her medal. The crowd cheers thunder around the rink as her name is announced, and Rosé is so, so happy for her.

The four attend the skaters' banquet that evening and Olivia isn’t left alone all night. Members of the media, VIP skating fans and other skaters congratulate her, asking her about her theme or what her next move is. She’s flustered, maybe a little overwhelmed, but Symone stays by her side and occasionally squeezes her hand, so Rosé doesn’t worry about her.

Utica mostly talks with other coaches, discussing things like scheduling and training regiments. Even Rosé herself has a fair amount of people approach her, telling her they look forward to seeing her perform again at the Olympics, about how beautiful her Nebelhorn program was, and _by the way, who is her designer?_ It’s a lovely and much-needed boost to her skating ego.  
They head home the next morning, discussing the event and the party the whole two-hour car ride with high spirits.

It isn’t until Rosé is alone in her apartment the night after the competition that she’s brought back to reality.

She enjoys going to Olivia’s competitions and being able to enjoy the sport stress-free and without the pressure of her own program. She gets to analyze other skaters objectively for once, cry for Olivia, calm down Utica. It’s a good break and she doesn’t regret the time spent away from training.

She does, however, feel a little lonely. She has a text from Utica asking if she got home safe, some from her friends, and a selfie from Mik. She also, unsurprisingly, has a text from Denali.

Denali texts her every day, even though Rosé hasn’t responded in almost a month - not since New Years'. Sometimes they’re simple “good mornings'' and “goodnights.” Other times they’re memes, or pictures of her dog, or complaints about hockey practice, or the fact that her takeout order didn’t include the soup she wanted.

Rosé feels bad, _really_ fucking bad, it eats her up inside when she sees the notification number go up and up each day. She kind of wants to apologize and just respond. But she promised herself, no matter what, she would wait until after the Olympics; she’ll keep all distractions as far away as possible and deal with the consequences after. She can’t give up her dream for... whatever it is between them.

Once nationals are finished, Rosé is left with a week until they fly out to Beijing. Olivia’s on mandatory break, giving Rosé free reign of the rink. Symone leaves practice a little earlier these days for reasons Rosé can guess have less to do with her personal performance and more so with a certain rinkmate of hers— but, no distractions, she’ll bully them after the Olympics. For now, it’s her and her program.

Practice itself is… mediocre. Her short program is still working well; she’s confident that she can keep it up to par, maybe even surpass her score from Nebelhorn. Her free skate, on the other hand, remains her problem. Before it was good in practice, even if it was lacking perfect execution during the competition. Now she can’t even nail it on her home rink. Whatever confident starting point that she had before when she chose the song isn't resonating with her anymore.

She can go through the motions; the first half of the program is passable. Even the second half isn’t bad; it gets her base score points well enough. But performing it has become mindless, unenthusiastic. It reminds her of how figure skating felt before her career really started gaining traction, like going onto the ice is more of a chore than something she genuinely loves doing. She’s not sure what she was thinking of before when she chose the song in the first place. How is she to enthrall an audience when she can’t even captivate herself?

“Rosie, let’s think,” Utica says one late afternoon after a particularly emotionless performance, only a few days before their flight. “What is it about this song that captures the essence of ‘power’ and ‘rebirth’? What's changed about you that’s starting anew?”

Rosé thinks for a moment. “Nothing, Utica. Nothing has changed,” she says, stepping off the rink and heading out the locker room. It feels like a lie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I forgot to mention this before, but if you’d rather I don’t reply or approve ur comment and just silently appreciate it, u can add ‘whisper’ to the end so ik!! I’m so thankful to everyone for supporting this fic is so insane!! <333333


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this is a good enough reward for all the slowburn uve endured!! I can’t believe this fic is almost over akdjjxbcb, tysm for sticking with me this long!! 
> 
> Big thank u to @mattelography for being an amazing beta for this chapter <3

The Olympics don’t care if Rosé is ready or not; February comes in with a whirlwind of cold fronts and snow. They take the two-hour or so flight to Beijing two days before the Olympics are set to start, so they can be there for the opening ceremony with the women’s singles short program following the day after.

The Olympic skaters, including Utica’s students and LaLa’s hockey team, have been planning to make travel plans for months, so it’s no surprise that they’re all on the same flight, especially considering the airline gave them special accommodations as “Cultural Representatives of America,” or something.

What is surprising, however, is that Denali doesn’t try to talk to her the whole trip, from waiting in the airport, to sitting a few rows down on the plane, to bussing over to the hotel to parting ways. She still texts Rosé, but made no move to approach her. Rosé appreciates the space, even if Mik’s worried glances say otherwise. But Mik sees the darkening bags under her eyes and the way her crooked fingers twitch on the airplane armrest, and knows that Rosé has enough on her plate than to worry about something like feelings. She has gold to win; they all do.

The opening ceremony the next day is an all-day extravagant affair. Rosé, Utica, Symone and Olivia parade around the city trying roast duck and buying silly trinkets to bring home to their families. They occasionally join the other ice skaters and their coaches, and even get lunch with the hockey team.

(Rosé and Denali sit at opposite ends of the table. Denali had sent her a “enjoy the ceremony tomorrow rosie!” text that morning. _After the Olympics_ , she promises herself. _She can wait that long. No distractions_.)

The evening celebrations are a flurry of fireworks, music performances and torch-lighting. There’s faces speaking various languages from all over the globe, many of which will be watching Rosé skate tomorrow. She runs her ‘after the Olympics’ spiel like a mantra in her head as she gets through all the social events, ignoring the weight on her shoulders and the thoughts of navy hair that constantly linger in the back of her mind.

***

The next morning has Rosé waking up with Utica at the crack of dawn to head to her practice slot on the rink. There’s five skaters total per slot, and she’s paired with Alina Zagitova, Kailani Craine, Olga Mikutina and Alexandra Feigin. This isn’t like the Nebelhorn Trophy; these skaters live and breathe this ice. They practice like it’s their last.

Rosé can totally do this.

She fucks up her camel spin and her axel is sub-par. This is only her _short_ program. She’s supposed to be good at this one.

She can’t do this.

Her head isn’t in it, she feels like she’s going to retire and that she doesn’t deserve to skate with the rest of them.

“Roe, it’s okay,” Utica whispers when she steps off the ice at the end of their time. Rosé’s breath comes out in loud huffs as she drops down onto the bench, head in her hands. “You’re doing so much better than you think you are. It’s all in your head, you goober. You know that.” Utica wraps her arms around her, jostling her slightly. “You have a few hours until we have to come back here, okay? Take a nap and breathe. Remember that you’re here because you’ve earned it and because you love to skate. That’s all that matters — not the other skaters, not some points. It’s about you and your feelings.”

Rosé lets out a breath and nods. She doesn’t think she can agree with Utica yet; what’s the point of skating if not to share it? But she knows what her coach is going for, she just needs to rest. To remember what it’s about.

She’s feeling a little better on their walk back to the hotel; the fresh air clearing her mind. The pressure is getting to her, sure, but she doesn’t think that’s it. There’s more on the line here than in other competitions, possibly her entire career. But she’s been on edge for weeks now; like she’s been living and breathing the ice yet still imperfect; how could that be?

They’re almost back to the hotel when Utica stops short, staring at her phone. There’s an article on the screen, and Rosé leans over to see what made her pause. The headline reads:

**Rookie Hockey Star Denali Foxx Hospitalized After Car Accident**

Rosé goes numb.

***

They head straight to the hospital mentioned in the article and use broken Mandarin at the receptionist to try to get in. It takes a few phone calls and paperwork, but they’re eventually allowed into the waiting room where the hockey team is gathered in a corner, talking in hushed tones.

Mik spots them first and hurriedly gets up from their chair to meet them. “Hey, thanks for coming,” they say, smiling. How can they be smiling at a time like this?

“Of course,” Utica says “Liv and Symone are on their way, too. How is she?”

Mik sighs. “Ah, she’s okay — fine, even. The car barely touched her, but it was enough to get her to have a nasty fall. Just a fracture—“

“Can I see her?” Rosé blurts out. She keeps picturing Denali, navy hair messy and eyes red from crying, youthful glow lost as she lays depressed in a hospital bed. She wants to see her. See that she’s okay.

Mik’s eyes widen, but they nod. “Sure, yeah. We’ve all been going in and out for the past hour or so. I’m sure she’ll be happy to see you.”

The goalie leads them down the hospital hallways and up a few floors through the elevator. It’s deafeningly white and uncomfortably sterile. She drums her hands against her thigh the whole way, chewing at her lips. Rosé wonders why she’s more worried about her former rivals health than she ever has been about the Olympics.

“You first, I’ll wait out here,” Utica hums, patting her on the back. Rosé feels like she should tell her no, that she’s Denali’s friend as well, but the ache in her heart has her nodding her head and stepping through the sliding door. 

Denali is sitting on a doctor’s chair in a hospital gown, legs swung over the sides as she plays with her phone. Her left leg is wrapped in a purple cast that’s already marked with sharpie all over. She glances up at the sound of the door opening, eyes widening almost comically when she sees the person standing in it. 

“Rosé.” She breathes, like she can’t imagine that the older woman is really there.

“Dee…” Rosé murmurs, walking to stand in front of her. “Denali, I’m, fuck, I’m so sorry.”

“Sorry? It’s just a fracture, probably closer to a sprain than anything—“

“Not, not that. I mean, well, also that —that sucks and I’m… but not that. I’m sorry for avoiding you. Ignoring you. That wasn’t fair. I’m sorry,” Rosé chokes, and she can feel her voice cracking up and tears welling in her eyes and threatening to spill. 

In the back of her mind Rosé can remember making promises to herself that she would _never_ , in a million years, cry over the Devil in navy hair that is Denali Foxx. No matter how many sponsorships and opportunities she stole, Rosé wouldn’t dare give her that.

Rosé can’t really find it in herself to keep that promise anymore; she doesn’t really want to, she realises.

It shouldn’t be possible, but Denali’s eyes go even wider. She looks so young like this, though Rosé knows she isn’t. “Roe, it’s okay. Really. I know you’re under a lot of pressure, I get it. I assumed as much.”

“Even if I was, that wasn’t fair of me. I could have handled it better, I just got... scared.”

“Scared of what?”

“You,” she sighs out, feeling the first tear fall over her cheek. Denali giggles and wipes a thumb under Rosé’s eye. “I was afraid of how I felt about you, how everything felt so different so quickly. How I didn’t want to lose it.”

“You would never lose me, dummy,” Denali grins, eyes bright. “I’ve been ready to wait for you to realize how I felt forever.”

_“What?”_

“I’ve always thought you were amazing, dumbass. Annoying, maybe. A sore loser, definitely,” she giggles, twirling her hair, “but amazing. When we shared a rink when we were young, I always thought that I wanted to look as natural on the ice as you did. I wanted to work as hard as you. You’re the reason I’m here today.”

“So you’re saying that if I pretended to not care you would have given up and I’d have gotten that goddamn Nike ad?” Rosé sighs, and Denali laughs and shoves her shoulder.

“ _Hell_ no. Well, maybe. Doesn’t matter. My point is, that I’ve waited through years of you ignoring me. A few weeks of not getting a text back wasn’t gonna deter me.”

“When you put it like that I sound like a real asshole,” Rosé groans. She probably had been.

“Nah, it’s not like I actually tried to get to know you either. I thought you were cool, but I also thought you were overly competitive and immature,” Denali hums, “now I know you better, though. I get why you were like that. You were just ambitious and I really respect that. I didn’t know that I could think you were any cooler than I already did, but I do. I really like you, Roe.”

Rosé lets out a breath she didn’t know holding. “I think you helped me realize that it’s okay to have more to life than just skating. That I could have more than one dream. I envied you because you got everything I wanted, but I also envied you because of the way you lived; carefree and for yourself. I wanted to feel like my life was my own again.”

“It is now, I think,” Denali says. “That’s your program, right? New Beginnings? The old Rosé skated for the love of the sport, and the new one—”

“The new one skates because it’s a part of her, but it’s no longer the only part,” she says. “I think I have you to thank for that.”

Denali shrugs, cheeks going a soft pink. They sit looking at each other in silence for a moment until Denali’s phone lights up with a notification, the younger woman gasping when she glances at it. “Holy shit. It’s almost noon! Aren’t you on in like, a few hours?!”

Rosé shrugs, unmoving. “Yeah, but I’m supposed to be resting, anyway. Wait, what about you? Your ankle… the tournament…”

Denali sighs and swings her legs out of sync with the weight of the cast. “Yeah, I won’t be able to play,” she groans. “Cried about it earlier, but I’m alright now. Doctors said it’ll heal fine and I’ll be able to play again soon enough. Sucks that it happened at my first Olympics, but I figure this just means I have to make sure the team gets here again in 2024, huh?”

Rosé’s glad she’s feeling better, but her heart aches for the hockey player all the same. To have something wretched away from her so out of her control. She’ll probably beat herself up about it later, and Rosé intends to be there when she needs her. “I’m still sorry,” she says softly, even if it feels like a useless phrase.

“Guess you’ll just have to win gold for me,” Denali shrugs.

Rosé splutters. “Talk about pressure!”

“What? Want me to tell you to win gold for the whole of America instead?” she laughs, wiggling her eyebrows.

“No, that’s worse!”

“Fine, then just win it for me, okay? I won’t be able to get my own, so I want to be able to hold yours.”

Rosé sighs, defeated. “Fine, I’ll do my best to win gold for you. Speaking of which, I probably should head out.” She doesn’t want to. She hadn’t realized how much she missed her.

“Probably,” Denali agrees somberly.

“Before I go, can I sign your cast?”

Denali considers this for a moment. “Hm, I don’t know. Since I’m pretty famous I think only Olympic gold winners can sign this cast.”

“You literally have the hockey team’s signatures on it and they haven’t even played yet.”

“I updated my criteria.”

Rosé sighs but stands up and smiles at Denali. She leans down and lays a soft kiss over the hockey player’s forehead before moving to place her own forehead over it, watching the way Denali’s face lights up at the touch. “I’ll win gold for you, then,” she says quietly. “Watch me?”

“I always do.” Denali whispers. It’s a promise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ITS!!!!! A!!!!!! PROMISE!!!!!!


End file.
